The Bane Of Men
by ToryTigress92
Summary: Lord Rathbone/OC. Lord Nelson Rathbone is a man on the verge of changing the course of British history, but will his past with a young woman who joins with his enemies to fight him prove to be his downfall?
1. Long Time No See

The Bane Of Men

Chapter 1: Long Time No See

She watched from the deserted gallery, looking down on the rows of middle-aged and elderly men below, sat in rows of red leather seats in the opulent Chamber. Her vision was not impaired by the heavy mourning veil she still wore over her features, the heavy silk gown clinging to her slender limbs. Beneath the veil, sharp green eyes watched with interest and suspicion on the heads of the Lords below.

Her eyes searched the inhabitants of the Chamber, searching for one in particular.

Where was he?

She had heard he'd only recently returned from China, on a diplomatic mission for her Majesty. She snorted derisively behind her veil.

That man never did anything for Queen and Country unless he had something to gain by it.

Finally the Speaker for the House of Lords stood, and the chatter died down.

"First order of business, my Lords, is the report of our esteemed friend, Lord Rathbone, who has recently returned from a diplomatic mission to China," the old Chamberlain said, his voice carrying clearly over the cavernous hall.

She refused to acknowledge the sudden pounding in her chest as anything other than anticipation, as a young man stood in the crowd of Lords below.

Lord Nelson Rathbone was a handsome fellow of about thirty years old, with dark eyes that glittered with intelligence and cunning, messy black hair and sculpted features. He straightened the lapels of his fitted coat of Bath superfine, before beginning his report, his powerful voice easily reaching even the distant gallery.

"My fellow Lords," he began, stepping into the centre of the Chamber, oozing arrogance and self-assuredness. "I'm afraid I bring disturbing news from the Orient. The Opium Wars have ravaged the lands and the Emperor's enemies are organising. The most vicious are the Boxers, a band of Godless rebels who murder without discretion. China is not well,"

At the rise of uncertain and disturbed voices, the veiled woman smirked and shook her head, clapping her hands slightly. "Bravo, Nelson, bravo. You've got them eating out of the palm of your hand," she murmured quietly. Her attention was drawn back down into the Chamber, as Rathbone spoke once more, gesturing with his hand to the doormen.

"Given to Her Majesty Queen Victoria by Emperor Keung Hsu in recognition of her fifty glorious years on the throne. Long Live the Queen!"

The veiled woman drew her breath at the lethally beautiful animal that had been wheeled in, in a cage, growling and snarling ferociously. The tiger snarled and struck out with its claws at its captors, as she saw a small, contemptuous smile dawn on Rathbone's austere mouth.

A mouth she remembered too well. Recollections of it had haunted her for years.

Cries of outrage and distress from the Lords rose in a cacophony of noise, just before the beast was taken back out. Seemingly in protest to the mutinous mutterings of his fellow Lords, Rathbone's smile turned urbanely charming as he turned to return to his seat.

"I apologise for the dramatics, but I have presented the Emperor's gifts as it was presented to me. My report is concluded," he said, sitting back down. The muttering died back down as the Speaker tried to reclaim order.

Turning away, the woman descended from the gallery, taking a small folded note from her purse. It was nothing but a plain card of embossed white, a ruby red seal displaying a coat of arms to the world. Once she was back in the main foyer, she called one of the liveried footmen over to her.

"Deliver this to Lord Rathbone once the session has adjourned. With my compliments," she murmured softly, holding out the note alongside a gold crown. The footman's eyes widened, before he bowed over her hand.

"Of course, Lady Sinclair," he muttered obsequiously, before he backed away. A satisfied smile dawned under the impenetrable black veil as the lady turned and ascended a staircase to one of the offices above the Chamber.

Perhaps it is now time to introduce our mysterious Lady Sinclair, no?

A high-born lady of rank, but she is not your conventional noblewoman. Our heroine spent most of her life in the Orient, or Japan to be precise, and she was no wilting English Rose.

Belinda Sinclair was looking forward to her first meeting with Nelson Rathbone for ten years.

* * *

Rathbone smiled in satisfaction as he rose from his seat in the House of Lords. He let himself be pulled along in the crowd of noblemen rushing for the door, all talking feverishly of his little stunt with the tiger. He chuckled to himself, fielding question after question with charming ease. This was the life he'd lived for ten years, and it fit him like an old glove.

But he craved more.

The raid in China had been just the first step. Soon, he would have it all.

"My Lord Rathbone!" a voice called him from behind. Rathbone turned to find a footman come scurrying up to him, bowing at the waist before holding out a card to him. Intrigued, Rathbone took it, absentmindedly acknowledging the footman's disappearance.

He turned it over and felt his heart pound at the coat of arms sealed in red wax on the other side.

_Her_.

She whom he hadn't seen for ten years, because of her blasted father. He had died a few years ago, if he recalled correctly, of consumption. Serve the blighter right, in his mind. Rathbones did not like to be told no.

He vaguely recalled catching glimpses of Belinda Sinclair, in the gossip and rumours of London's elite. After the death of her father, Belinda had become nothing short of a hermit, hiding her considerable beauty under a mourning veil, and refusing all invitations. She had to be…..twenty five, twenty six by now?

His curiosity piqued further, Rathbone broke the seal and opened the missive, his eyebrows rising a few seconds later.

An amused smile crinkled his smooth lips as he turned towards the Parliamentary offices, crumpling the note in his hand a moment later.

* * *

Rathbone strode along a dim hallway, its high windows looking out on the bustling Parliament Square below. His shoes echoed in the deserted hall, before he paused outside a carved mahogany door. He inhaled deeply before opening it.

Within, the room was darkened, but he soon spotted a slender figure standing over by one of the windows, veiled in lace and mystery.

"My Lady Sinclair," he murmured, inclining his head as he closed the door and stood before it, watching her intently.

She turned towards him, the sunlight haloing her form. She was gowned in sombre black, the long sleeves and draped bustle skirt hiding skin he remembered felt like satin to the touch. The veil hid the skin of her collarbone and neck, but he could see a glimpse of gleaming mahogany curls poking from behind the veil. Her hands were gloved.

"Hello, Rathbone," she murmured, her voice a gentle caress, but he could detect the smile in her voice. "Your performance in the Chamber was entertaining, I must say. My congratulations,"

"Thank you. I did not think women could enter the House of Lords," Rathbone said, strolling forward, holding his hands behind his back, but smiling easily. He could just imagine her smirk when she answered.

"Oh, how you underestimate women, my Lord. There are other ways into the Houses of Parliament other than the front door," she told him cryptically.

"And as the daughter of the previous British Ambassador to the Japanese, you are well-known here," Rathbone retorted. She inclined her head.

"There is that also," she murmured laughingly.

"How long has it been?" Rathbone suddenly asked, stepping closer to her, "Ten years?"

"Yes, it has been. Much has changed," Belinda replied, almost sadly.

"Much time has been wasted, you mean," Rathbone corrected her, sliding one arm confidently around her waist and pulling her forward. At her gasp, he surmised she wasn't expecting his forwardness. "Oh what is a little impropriety amongst old friends?"

"Your arrogance is one thing that is unchanged, my Lord," Belinda replied coolly, yet the honorific pricked him. He smirked condescendingly, one hand rising to her veil. He sensed her eyes flare.

"Don't you dare!" she snarled, and he was taken aback by the vehemence in her voice. He sighed impatiently.

"You've been hiding your beauty behind a mourning veil for too long," he whispered, grasping the edge of her veil and pulling it up slowly, but not all the way. He conceded to her wish, and just uncovered her lips.

Those lips that he'd dreamed about nightly for the past ten years, that had tortured him with their innocence and naïveté, and renewed his hunger for her with a vengeance.

He kissed her voraciously, pulling her hard against him. Belinda moaned into his mouth, sliding her hands up the lapels of his coat to his hair, twining her fingers with the raven mess. Rathbone pressed her back against the wall, uncaring if he was frightening her, just needing to reassure himself that she was still his, after all this time. Belinda yielded her mouth with a sigh, pressing it back on him as she kissed him aggressively. One of Rathbone's hands slid up the nape of her neck, holding her head still as her re-asserted dominance of the kiss, claiming her mouth in a devastating invasion. The feel of her soft body pressed to his once more was almost more than he could take. He left her lips, the pair breathing raggedly in unison.

"God, how I have missed you, Belinda," he murmured against her lips before placing a taunting little kiss at the very corner of her lips.

"I had heard you've been too busy to spend much time pining over me, Nelson," Belinda replied coldly, pushing him away slightly. Surprised, Rathbone straightened, but could see her façade was exactly that: a façade.

Belinda's lips were as red as he remembered, swollen and bruised from his attentions; her skin flushed a gentle rose. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Belinda," he whispered, raising one eyebrow arrogantly.

"And I'm sure you know exactly what I'm talking about," she whispered back, smiling smugly, as Rathbone felt uncertainty sweep him. Could she know of his plans?

"My dear, let us not argue over trivialities," he said, reassuming his confident mien, hauling her back into his arms once more and kissing her senseless. Heady compulsion rose under his skin, licking like flames, making every touch of their fully-clothed bodies a pure agony of want and desire.

Belinda felt him take her mouth again, and she was unable to resist, arching into his arms instinctively.

Damn the blasted man! Couldn't he keep his hands to himself for one minute!?

Regardless of what her mind was shrieking at her, Belinda slid her hands into his hair, relishing the silky strands back under her fingers. The harsh, hungry communion of their lips sent fire coursing through every vein she possessed, molten lava flows of passion sparking under her skin.

This was not the gentle, tender suitor of ten years before, but a hungry, dominant savage, intent on fraying any sanity she possessed into shreds.

Wait, she had a point she'd come here to make. She hadn't come for this, no matter how pleasurable it was. She had to stop it now, in its prematurity, before it went too far.

She felt Rathbone's strong hand caress up from her waist, possessively exploring a figure that had changed a lot over ten years. It was sleeker now, more refined, having lost all its childish plumpness.

The body of a huntress, as Orchid would say.

Recalling herself from the mindless passion he'd dragged her into, Belinda raised one hand to her hair, pulling out a long dagger/hair pin that anchored her curls. In a flash of movement, she brought it up and against Rathbone's throat, pressing against his jugular. They paused in their embrace, Belinda finally able to breathe and to think.

Both activities threatened to descend back into breathless chaos at the fires in his dark eyes.

"Beware, Rathbone. I am not the girl you once knew," she said warningly, pushing him away slightly.

"Evidently not," he murmured, swallowing. His Adam's apple rode against the cold, wafer-thin blade. "What did you call me here for, then?"

To Belinda's surprise, he was utterly cool and calm, as if they were merely discussing the weather, not standing in a parliamentary office, her with a knife to his throat, heated and flustered after their passionate kiss.

"I know you're planning something, Rathbone. Something to do with the Queen, and I warn you now, I will find a way to stop you," she said shortly. Rathbone's brows rose incredulously. "Don't even go there with the innocent act, Rathbone. It doesn't suit you!"

His brow lowered, and he shrugged, moving away from under her dagger. "I have never been innocent, but then you always found that…alluring in me, did you not, Belinda?" he said, suggestively. Her eyes narrowed as she flicked her veil back down.

"Oh get over yourself, Rathbone!" she snarled.

"Oh touchy! I seemed to have inadvertently grazed a nerve," he said, folding his arms and leaning against the window frame, his eyes on her veiled face.

Belinda inhaled deeply, digging for patience, before she faced his Arrogant Lordship once more.

"What are you planning, Rathbone?" she asked coolly, determined not to lose her temper and let him win. He cocked an eyebrow, smirking as he prowled predatorily towards her.

"You don't know, do you? But you were always clever and cunning, Belinda. See if you can work it out," he said suavely.

"Then you admit you're planning something?" she asked, surprised he hadn't denied her accusation at all.

"Did I ever deny I wasn't, Belinda?" he retorted evasively, as Belinda rolled her eyes. "You have not changed. Still the same fiery, impatient girl I remember so well,"

"I will find out what you're planning, Rathbone, and when I do; I'm going to stop you," she said quietly, sliding her dagger/hair pin back into place as she went to walk out the room.

Moving quicker than a panther, Rathbone snagged her wrist and drew her back to him, one brow raised superciliously.

"Now that's no way to bid goodbye to an old friend," he murmured, taking advantage of a gap in the folds of her glove to plant a hungry, open-mouthed kiss on her pulse. He could feel it leap beneath his lips, as he smiled smugly, before he raised his head.

Belinda snatched it back; her breathing noticeably strained and strode from the room.

"I will stop you, Rathbone," was the final whisper over her shoulder as she left, and Rathbone was left standing alone.

A predatory grin spread across his lips.

"I look forward to it, my Belinda," he murmured, before he too left the room.


	2. Memories I

Chapter 2: Memories I

Belinda sighed in relief when she made it to her coach, waiting in the mews of the Parliament building.

"Alrigh' milady?" Jeffries, her coachman, asked as she swung herself into the dark, plush interior. Glad of her veil, Belinda inclined her head. She had to be flustered.

"Perfectly. Home, Jeffries," she said brusquely, slamming the carriage door shut behind her. She hadn't bothered with footmen today, preferring secrecy to announcing who the mysterious visitor to the House of Lords was.

With a jolt, her team of matched chestnuts pulled the carriage out of the mews, and onto the roads of London. Settling back into her seat, Belinda felt once more Rathbone's lips claiming her, his hands firm around her waist.

Her breath caught, as she touched her lips through the clinging lace of her veil.

He had never kissed her like that before.

Not with passion and fire and voracious hunger. Oh yes, there had been tenderness, desire and love once before, so many years ago.

She didn't love him now. She couldn't, not now she knew he was planning something against Queen Victoria. She had her duty, she couldn't love him.

Could she?

She shook away that thought, staring absentmindedly at the velvet interior of her coach, a memory beginning to take over.

* * *

_Ten years before…_

"I don't see why I must go to this…ball, father, even if the Queen did invite us. We'll be returning to Tokyo, in three weeks. It's a waste of time," Belinda sighed, folding her gloved hands stubbornly. Across from her, Edward Sinclair, British Embassy to the Japanese, sighed impatiently.

"It was your mother's wish that one day you be presented to society. I would've thought you would enjoy the chance of female companionship," he said coolly. Belinda rolled her eyes, looking out of the window.

"You mean those wilting, vacuous excuses for women? I had enough of those in Tokyo," she said scathingly. Edward chuckled once, before leaning forward to grasp her gloved hands.

"It's just one ball. Besides, it shall be good for you to see some English society, my dear. One day, you must marry and return to a good life here. You cannot live in the Orient always," he replied calmingly.

"Why not? I prefer it there," Belinda said in quiet voice, looking down at their hands. When Edward spoke next, his voice was both sad and gentle.

"Because your mother's memory resides there. She would not wish you to live your life by her ghost,"

Belinda had no reply, but looked out of the window at the passing houses. Her father sat back, sighing once more. A devilish glint twinkled in his brown eyes.

"Perhaps you shall meet some young lord who will sweep you off your feet!" he joked, as Belinda turned flaming green eyes on him.

"Because that is the only thing a conventional young lady can do these days!" she scoffed scornfully, rolling her eyes. Edward chuckled.

His daughter had never been conventional. Six years before, Belinda's mother, Maria, had been murdered by Japanese bandits on the road from Tokyo to one of the mountain villages. Their convoy had been ambushed, and Maria had been killed.

Belinda and Edward were further behind on the road. He would never forget the look in Belinda's eyes when she saw her mother's dead body.

Determined he would not let his daughter become a mere passenger of fate, as her mother had been, he had brought in tutors for the ten-year old, to teach her in the art of pistol shooting, both long bore and short range, as well as Western fencing. The young girl had taken to it with alacrity, in a way she had never done in other, more conventional pursuits for little girls. Belinda preferred riding astride horseback wildly across the Japanese plains to playing with dolls and toy houses.

When the girl turned thirteen, of her own volition, she began to learn the way of the Samurai and the Ninja, to her father's slight worry. But she had refused to give up her instruction, vehemently protesting against her father. Edward soon realised that through her instruction, Belinda had found peace and solace from her mother's death, and so had left her alone.

The fact that he had a daughter who could throw a dagger accurately at twenty paces and break someone's neck with her bare hands didn't worry him at all.

* * *

Belinda struggled to hide an already bored yawn, as her father handed her down from the carriage at Buckingham Palace. Ahead of them, crowds of socialites and debutantes headed inside to the cotillion, all of them gowned in white. Belinda mentally rolled her eyes, glad she hadn't pandered to society. At least she wouldn't be one of those dummy wallflowers.

Edward sent her a conspiratorial wink, as he led her to the door.

Inside, the Palace was decorated with cerulean blue drapes and silver candelabras, the crystalline chandeliers sparkling overhead. The elite of society milled around, sipping from champagne flutes and gossiping quietly. A string quartet played a gentle waltz over the conversation.

Peeking her head from behind the velvet curtain, Belinda spotted the woman sitting in her robes of state, upon the golden throne, surrounded by her family.

Queen Victoria, Empress of India and Defender of the Faith.

Nervousness filled her, making her movement stilted as she slipped her cloak from her shoulders and handed it to a footman. Ahead of them in the queue a man in a ceremonial powdered wig and full Beefeater's costume announced the name of the debutantes to the company, as they descended with their fathers to be presented to the Queen.

Then it was their turn.

"Lady Belinda Sinclair and Lord Edward Sinclair, Ambassador to the Imperial Court of Japan."

Edward turned to Belinda, and smiled benignly at his sixteen-year old daughter.

"You're so beautiful, Belinda. Your mother would be proud of you," he whispered, just before they stepped into the harsh light of society. "You were born for this."

Belinda smiled at him, ducking her head, as she let him steer her into the light and down the stairs.

Heads turned at the names, as whispers and gasps sounded. Edward smirked to himself, fully aware why they were sounding so scandalised.

Belinda's cotillion gown was hardly conventional, but then again, it simply fitted who she was.

The simple, unfussy gown was off-the-shoulder, with short wispy sleeves, showcasing her ivory skin. The only flaw was one tiny birthmark, shaped like a wonky star on her collarbone, half-hidden by the corseted bodice. Her long skirts draped her legs, the bustle floating down the steps behind her, threaded through with seed pearls. Gold lace embroidery, as delicate as spider webs, covered the gown, in an obscure, Oriental design, a golden sash cutting from one shoulder to another completing the ensemble. Long white gloves hid the skin of her arms, almost as pale as the silk she wore. Her long, burnished mahogany hair was piled in tumbling curls around her neck and collarbone, the white pearls in her ears glimmering against the luscious darkness of her hair. Around her neck was a simple black velvet band from which hung a tiny porcelain cherub angel.

It was not in fashion, either her hair or her gown, but she looked breathtaking. She had Edward's dark hair, but her mother's skin and eyes and figure.

She was grace incarnate as they glided down the steps, a cool and confident glow in her eyes. He kept his eyes averted as they approached the Queen, until they halted before her.

"Your Majesty, allow me to present my daughter, the Lady Belinda Sinclair," Edward said, bowing at the waist. Belinda sank into a deep curtsey, inclining her head gracefully.

"Your Majesty," she said, her voice demure but confident.

"Rise, Lord and Lady Sinclair. It is a pleasure to see you returned from Japan," the Queen murmured.

Belinda raised her eyes, meeting the wise, and twinkling old eyes of Queen Victoria.

"Thank you, your Majesty. It is good to be home," Edward said courteously. The Queen nodded benignly, before turning her attention to Belinda.

"And this is Belinda? I must say she has grown very quickly, and how much she looks like Maria! How do you do, my dear?" she asked. Belinda smiled calmly, conscious of someone's eyes on her face as she focussed on the Queen.

"Very well, Your Majesty. Although I fear I find the London surrounds are not to my liking," Belinda said boldly. There were titters behind her, as the crowd wondered at her comment.

"Oh? And why is that?" Victoria asked, interestedly. This one was not as awestruck as some of the others. The gaze of a tall, handsome young man of twenty, standing in a cavalry uniform sharpened with interest on the young girl.

"It is too confined. There is no space to ride, or to breathe. It's filled with life, but sometimes, it's suffocating," Belinda replied promptly. Victoria inclined her head.

"Quite. But surely Japan, for all its provincial charm, cannot compare to England and its glorious cities?" the Queen asked incredulously. Belinda's eyes narrowed.

"Japan may be primitive, but it affords amenities and freedoms no other place can. There is nothing more thrilling, or exciting than the rush of wind through one's hair as one gallops on the plains of Japan," Belinda retorted proudly, tilting her chin. Some tutted, whilst Edward cast a despairing look at the ceiling, before smiling ruefully at his daughter.

"Forgive my daughter, Your Majesty. She is rather an incorrigible spirit," he said, respectfully. Victoria chuckled.

"Nothing wrong with pride or spirit, Lord Sinclair. Indeed those are considered to be virtues, and are the cornerstone of our great empire," she said, chuckling to herself.

"Your Majesty, the others are waiting," the announcer bent his head. The gentlemen clothed in the cavalry uniform bent his head to the Queen's ear.

"Quite the queue has built up. At this rate, we'll be here until dawn," he said smoothly, his eyes straying to Belinda. She narrowed her eyes at him, but curtseyed nonetheless.

"Well, until we meet again, Lady Sinclair. Lord Sinclair," Victoria said graciously, inclining her head. Belinda rose from her curtsey, taking her father's arm, her eyes rising to the proud young man standing before her.

Artfully dishevelled black curls hung above cold dark eyes that glinted with intelligence and cunning. Strong patriarchal planes for a face, and a tautly toned body covered by the uniform of a cavalry officer. A gilded sabre hung by his side.

Belinda hoped the flush heating her skin was due to annoyance and not something else. She shot him a look, before letting her father lead her away.

The twenty year-old Lieutenant Colonel Nelson Rathbone, heir to the Rathbone estate and tenth in line to the throne smirked as the fiery brunette debutante disappeared from sight into the crowd, interest sparking in his cold eyes.

* * *

"Who was that man standing beside Her Majesty, father?" Belinda asked, "The one in the cavalry uniform?"

Edward smirked a little, amused by his daughter's interest. "That, my dear, is Lord Nelson Rathbone, heir apparent to the Rathbone estate and tenth in line to the crown. Also Victoria's favourite cousin," he added in a low aside. "Be wary of Rathbone, Belinda. He is not the sort you want to get mixed up with,"

"Have no worries there, father. It's quite clear he loves himself too much to care for anyone else. I am safe from him," Belinda murmured, accepting a glass of water from her father.

But was Rathbone safe from Belinda?

Edward had seen the interest in Rathbone's eyes as he'd watched her converse with the Queen. It worried him no end.

At long last the line of debutantes ended, and the dancing was about to commence. Belinda was perfectly happy to sit this one out, clinging to the shadows, as she watched everyone assemble on the dance floor for the first waltz. Young girls tittered coquettishly as eligible young men offered their hand for the dance. Belinda wanted none of it. She set to planning her ride tomorrow; perhaps if she got up early enough, Hyde Park would be empty enough for her to squeeze in a gallop. She so missed her long rides in the Japanese countryside, squeezed in-between diplomatic functions and her training with her Master.

"Penny for your thoughts, my lady?" a voice suddenly asked behind her, as Belinda twirled. She came face to face with Rathbone, a pleased smirk on his austere lips at her distracted state.

A state that heightened, to Belinda's alarm, at the sight of his lips at her eye level. They were long and smooth, and looked as hard as granite. As did the rest of his body for that matter.

"Excuse me, my lord?" she asked, dragging her gaze from his lips to meet his eyes, praying he couldn't see the blush she sensed was colouring her cheeks.

"I asked you what you were thinking, my lady. I noticed you standing over here, with such a distant look upon your face, as if your mind was occupied in more…pleasurable surrounds. You are a mystery and I can't resist a mystery," he explained, with a winning smile, as he took up a space beside her. Belinda watched him through narrow eyes.

"Perhaps I am one mystery you would do well to ignore? I have no intention of sharing my mind with anyone," she told him haughtily. His smirk grew.

"Oh, that was not your attitude earlier, when you greeted my cousin. It was quite refreshing from the usual po-faced numbskulls we're used to at these blasted things," he replied casually, turning to look out over the assembling group of debutantes. Belinda couldn't help but laugh at his description of the girls on parade, and decided to take a chance.

"And none take your fancy, my lord? I thought a cotillion's sole purpose was to find a young girl a titled husband and vice versa," she said, with innocently raised eyebrows. Rathbone turned back to her, letting out one short, bark-like laugh, before he sobered.

"Perhaps there are some who have taken your fancy, my Lady Sinclair?" he asked teasingly. Belinda glared at him.

"I asked the question first, but, I do not recall being introduced to you in the receiving line. An obvious misdeed on your part, my lord," she retorted, a small smile softening her features, as her brow relaxed from its glare. Rathbone grinned widely and pushed away from the wall, executing a deep, flourishing bow.

"Forgive me, my dear lady. You are right; I have been most remiss in my social graces. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Lieutenant Colonel Lord Nelson Rathbone, although most just call me Nelson or Rathbone," he said, upon rising, holding his hand out. Belinda gave him hers proudly.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord Rathbone," she said, curtseying elegantly.

"The pleasure is mine, my dear lady," he murmured, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips, brushing a soft kiss over her knuckles. Belinda could feel her eyes flare, her breathing hitch, even with the sensation heavily muted by silk. She hastily withdrew her hand, inhaling deeply.

"Ahh…I see you're a cavalry officer, Rathbone," she said, trying to make conversation in the suddenly tense atmosphere between them. At the look in his eyes, she felt her pulse race.

"Indeed, you are well-informed. I serve in her Majesty's cavalry in India, a post I've held for four years. I will go back soon, for a short tour of duty before retiring and taking my place in the House of Lords, when the time comes," he explained. Belinda cocked her head at him, her interest sparked.

"Have you seen many battles?" she asked animatedly. Rathbone's brow rose at her interest, as Belinda's heart sank. "I apologise if I have been remiss. Father is always telling me I must curb my less than acceptable…enthusiasms when in polite company."

"Oh, do not apologise, my dear. It is refreshing to talk to someone who actually interested in something other than embroidery and the latest fashions," he said jokingly. Belinda wrinkled her nose at such a thought as fashion. She dressed as she wanted, not how others thought she should dress. "By the way, that is a lovely gown. So unusual."

Belinda smiled. "Is it a matter of course for a gentleman to compliment a lady on her gown despite its unfashionable style?" she asked, as Rathbone's eyes widened.

"You are teasing me, my lady," he said, propping his shoulder against the ballroom wall. He looked over at the dance floor. "Don't you fancy it?"

Belinda shook her head. "I would prefer not."

But as the chamberlain announced the first piece of music, Rathbone shifted to stand in front of Belinda. To her horror, he bowed and held out his hand.

"Lady Belinda, I earnestly entreat your hand for this dance," he said, rather pompously. Belinda laughed at his tone, as amusement gleamed in his eyes. Her laugh drew attention to the pair, and Belinda knew she would not be able to duck out of it.

"Very well," she said haughtily, bestowing her hand in his. Confidently he led her to the dance floor. As they took a place on the wooden floor, she hissed at him. "I hate dancing."

"Then you have clearly never danced with a Rathbone," he replied jerking her wrist, twirling her into his arms. She ended against his chest; her eyes level with his lips once more, before she raised them to his eyes. Rathbone, never breaking eye contact, drew her other arm up, holding her hand tightly in his, whilst Belinda instinctively rested her free hand on his shoulder. Pressed from breast to knee against him, she literally couldn't breathe. His hand, firm on the small of her back, did nothing to help matters.

"And what makes Rathbones such experts of the art?" she asked him archly, summoning all her spleen, fighting the odd breathlessness afflicting her. He tilted his head, watching her through amused eyes.

"You shall see. You do know how to waltz in the wild provinces of Japan?" he asked her teasingly. She smirked back at him, matching his teasing tone.

"Oh yes, I do enjoy a good waltz very occasionally. I shall be inspecting your skill to see if it matches your confident tongue," she informed him archly. He laughed as the music started, and he twirled her into the first turn.

He was indeed an expert waltzer. He took Belinda's breath away; lucky for her she knew the steps off by heart, as they danced gracefully around the floor. His strong arms expertly steered her, checked her and spun her. Belinda felt totally, physically powerless, utterly controlled by him. It was a humbling thought, even though Belinda knew she could flip him on his back in less time than it took to blink.

It was not so much a warning of danger, but a feeling of her vulnerability. Of a woman to a man.

She could feel his eyes on her face, on her skin as they revolved. It made her heart flutter.

This was ridiculous! She'd only just met the man for goodness' sake!

"Will you tell what you were thinking earlier? When I found you by the wall?" Rathbone suddenly asked her, and she was grateful for the conversational gambit.

"I was planning my habitual ride in Hyde Park. I was hoping, if I rose early enough, I could get a gallop, before the elite of society turn out, and I'm looked on censoriously," she said scathingly, rolling her eyes. Rathbone chuckled.

"Of course. You like riding?" he asked, as they continued to waltz effortlessly. She nodded her answer.

"I used to ride all over the Japanese countryside. I miss my freedoms," she said, lowering her eyes sadly.

"But there are compensations, surely?" he asked, one brow raised as they whirled through another turn. Belinda shrugged casually, unable to breathe through the vice holding her lungs at his nearness. He spoke again, an amused gleam in his eyes, and in the set of his smirking mouth. "Well, my lady? Does my dancing ability match my confident tongue?" he asked teasingly. Belinda smiled slowly, fixing her eyes on his before lowering them demurely.

"Adequate, I suppose," she shot at him. He inhaled mock-shakily, as if he'd taken a mortal blow to the heart.

"You wound my pride, my lady," he joked, as Belinda laughed.

"Well someone needs to ensure a man does not acquire too big a head. What else are ladies for if not that?" she asked him, mischievously.

"You are certainly unlike any other lady I have ever met," Rathbone breathed, looking down at her. Belinda raised her eyes, as they became trapped in his, entranced.

Finally the music halted, as they came to a stop. Rathbone's arms did not ease from her body, as she slowly looked up into his arms. And swallowed hard.

There was the same sensual awareness in his eyes as there was in hers, both achingly aware of their closeness. Belinda's lips throbbed, parted, as his eyes mesmerised hers.

Abruptly, she pushed out of his arms, curtseying.

"Thank you for the waltz, my lord. I must visit the withdrawing room," she said hastily, not stopping to see Rathbone bow, just getting as far away from him as possible, not seeing his speculative gaze on her retreating back.

Belinda did escape the ballroom, but not to the withdrawing room. Instead she found an empty parlour that opened onto the gardens. She stood at the French doors, and let the cool summer breeze wash over her flushed skin.

She couldn't find her father anywhere, but then again, he was most likely conversing with the political and democratic elite in the library.

Brandy and cigars flowing freely, no doubt.

Her lips quirked momentarily at the thought, before she grew serious once more.

Her skin felt deliciously sensitised, her pulse still pounding through her veins.

What was wrong with her? What was this fire in her heart, consuming her?

"Lady Belinda?" a voice asked solicitously from behind her, as she jumped and spun. It was a testament to her state that she was too distracted for her heightened senses to register his arrival.

It was Lord Rathbone.

"Are you quite well?" he asked concernedly, moving into the light cast by a fire popping in the grate. Belinda smiled shortly, moving away from him and closer to the window.

"Just feel somewhat hot, that's all," she said. It was true enough, but his presence was making it worse.

"Perhaps a turn in the gardens? To help you cool down," he said, stepping up to her side and offering his arm. Feeling obliged to take it, Belinda stepped out beside him, as they descended into the gardens of Buckingham Palace.

They were bathed in moonlight, peaceful and still, as they walked between fountains and flowerbeds, achingly aware of the other's presence.

They talked of mundane things, of her life in Japan, his life in the military and the life he would take when he became head of his family. They laughed together about the absurdity of society and of fashion, so that when they turned back, some of the discomfort Belinda had felt dissipated. He drew her close, as close as society deemed proper, and she felt no fear, just pleasure at the heavy weight of his hand on her arm.

So when he asked to join her on her ride, she did not refuse.

When her father asked her about Rathbone, she told him nothing, writing him off as nothing more than an amusing acquaintance.

So it went on for two weeks, riding in the early morning, laughing and joking together, the evenings at whatever ball they happened to be both attending, the rising attraction between them only growing stronger.

Belinda didn't know what was happening to her. Rathbone both unsettled and attracted her. She sensed that beneath his charming exterior there was a heart of steel, and a ruthless sense of purpose. There was darkness in him, and she didn't know if it scared her or allured her.

He was arrogant at times, overly confident, overbearing at times, dominant and calculating, but then she seemed the perfect foil to his faults. They sparred as equals, hiding nothing from each other in the two weeks they grew closer.

The only thing she did not tell him about was her training with the Samurai and the Ninjas. Those were secrets she could not tell, for they were not hers to do as she liked with.

So at the end of the two weeks, and she looked at her calendar, and saw her departure for Japan drew near, panic smote her heart.

She didn't want to leave England. She didn't want to leave _him_.

That evening at yet another ball, she struggled to hide tears of sorrow, as she whirled in his arms. Rathbone looked down on her concernedly, as she raised her eyes to his. They pounced, trapping her, letting her know she wouldn't get away with not telling him what was affecting her.

His hand shifted on her back, caressing the skin in soothing little circles, in an intimate way that she should've taken umbrage at, but didn't. It made her want to lean forward and rest her head on his lapel.

The waltz finished, and Belinda made sure her father was out of sight, before Rathbone pulled her from the dance floor. They slipped, unnoticed, from the ballroom.

* * *

"What the devil's wrong, Belinda?" Rathbone asked, as they slipped outside, onto a deserted balcony and along, into a wisteria trellised walk. Private, dark and cool, soothing Belinda's heated skin, until he pulled her into an alcove, all but nose to nose with him. "Tell me," he said insistently.

Belinda took in a deep breath and wrested her arm from his grip. "It's nothing. Just a little hot that's all."

"Like you were 'a little hot' the night we first met?" Rathbone asked incredulously, stalking her back a little. Belinda felt the wall bump into her back, and stopped trying to escape him. Her lungs seized. "That's not it. Or is it?" he asked, a disturbing confidence lighting up his dark eyes. It made her knees go weak, as a wicked smile flashed.

"Please don't," she murmured, eyes wide. He halted, watching her intently. "I'm leaving in a week. Father is returning to his post in Tokyo,"

"Ah, I see," he said, his refined tone sending shivers down her spine. He moved, so his face was in shadow.

"I just think…I can't….This f-feeling when I'm near you, it…You do know what I'm talking about, don't you?" she asked, suddenly fearful she was imagining it, abandoning her attempts to explain herself better.

Rathbone was silent, his face inscrutable. She couldn't read it in the semi-darkness of the wisteria walk.

Finally he spoke. "Yes, I do," he whispered, before he drew her close. Belinda felt her heart race, as he paused for a heartbeat, before he lowered his lips to hers. His lips were smooth and as hard as she'd fantasised, obviously experienced. He was tender and yet still so passionate. His hands tightened around her waist, pulling her even closer, when she felt a hot weight press between her lips. She sighed and opened her lips, feeling a thrill to her toes when his tongue slid in. He teased her, playing with her, enticing her into a game of intimate thrust and parry.

Fire rushed through her, rendering her soft body even softer, yielding to his muscular arms. She poured everything there was of herself to give, heart, body and soul; into the kiss.

Rathbone's hand slid up her spine, twining with her loose curls, sending a shiver down her spine. Dizzying, desperate to breathe, Belinda drew back from his lips, her body crushed against him from breast to toe. Breathing shallowly, the hand at the nape of her neck slid around to her face, caressing her cheek. She looked into eyes that reflected all she felt in her own.

"I love you," he whispered. "In the space of one week, you have managed to utterly bewitch me."

"I don't want to leave you," she managed to whisper, just before his lips tenderly caressed hers again.

"I know," he said when he drew back. "Marry me."

Belinda felt her world tilt, as surprise and disbelief set in, she stared at him. "What?"

In answer to that, Rathbone sank to one knee, taking both her hands in his.

"Belinda Juliet Sinclair, will you marry me? Will you be my wife?" he asked quietly, soberly. Belinda searched his face for any sign of a joke, but there was none to be found in his stern face. He was completely serious.

"I…I…t-this isn't happening! This isn't real!" she shuddered in pure distress. She made to move away, but he grabbed her closer, pulling her down to perch on his supporting knee, imprisoning her chin in his hand, entrapping her eyes with his own.

"Do you love me?" he asked, never flinching in their eye contact. Belinda stared at him, her heart pounding. Did she love him?

"Yes…I love you, Nelson," she breathed, feeling as though a gigantic weight lifted from her chest, and she could breathe again. She leant her forehead on his, and touched her lips to his mouth. Their lips clung, before Rathbone broke away to look at her once more.

"Then marry me," it wasn't a question, and some part of Belinda wanted to rebel at the downright command in his tone, but she didn't.

"Yes," she murmured, before their lips met again. His arms held her close to him, as though she were the most precious thing in the world to him. When they once again left their kiss, heat simmering in their veins, Belinda's head slipped onto his chest, clinging to him. He held her tight against his chest, never wanting to let go.

"Never let go of me," she sighed, tucking her head into the hollow below his throat. Rathbone tucked his chin above her head, resting his cheek on her soft curls, stroking them soothingly whilst they both recovered from their newly discovered passion.

"Never," he vowed gently, "I will never let you go. You're mine, Belinda. Mine."

That warrior-like pronouncement should perhaps have chilled her, but it didn't. It sent seductive shivers through her body, as he clasped her closer. She knew she was his; always had been and always would be. Forever.

"Are you cold, my love?" he asked, feeling her shivers and misinterpreting them. Belinda felt his hands on her face, tipping it up, so their lips met.

This time, the kiss was more aggressive, more hungry, a taste of everything their joint lives would hold. Their tongues twined, and Belinda boldly slid her hands into his hair, taking great delight in ruining the spikes of black hair. He moaned into her mouth, a sound that sent shudders through her every nerve. Breathing raggedly now, Rathbone broke from her lips, standing up, taking her with him.

"You'll speak with my father tomorrow?" she asked him breathlessly. He nodded, his eyes fixed on her lips.

"Yes. Tomorrow morning at the latest. Soon we'll be husband and wife," he promised her, leading her back towards the ballroom. "We must return, before we're missed."

Smoothing the front of her gown down, Belinda clung to his arm as they walked briskly back from their haven, and towards society, where they would have to part.

Just before they were about to re-enter the ballroom, Rathbone pulled Belinda into an alcove and set his lips to her once more, drinking deeply, exploring her mouth softly. She shivered and sank against him, eliciting a rippling shiver to run through his taut frame.

"Meet me tomorrow in Hyde Park. I'll let you know how my meeting with your father went," he said, when they drew apart, conscious they could be discovered any second by a scandalmonger. Fear suddenly filled Belinda's heart.

"I'm afraid, Nelson. My father dislikes you for some reason, he warned me off you before we even met. I fear he will not accept the match," she said, in a fierce whisper. Rathbone looked…uneasy for a moment, before his confident mask slipped back into place.

"Then I'll just have to persuade him with my considerable charm," he said, eliciting a strangled laugh from Belinda as his lips covered hers once more. With one last kiss, she pushed him away giddily, and smoothed her gown down before stepping lightly back into the ballroom, Rathbone at her heels……

* * *

_Present day…_

Belinda sighed and pulled herself from her memories as the carriage rocked to a halt. With a nod to her coachman, she stepped out and walked briskly into the imposing Georgian residence in Grosvenor Square, her eyes straying for a moment to another, very similar one down the road. The London home of the Rathbone family.

She shuddered and walked inside.

A lot had changed since that night in the moonlight, the night she'd agreed to become Nelson Rathbone's wife. The night she discovered tenderness, the first flutterings of desire and love. A night she could never forget, no matter how she tried.

She was no longer a sixteen year old girl, no longer quite as naïve or trusting. Fate had knocked her about, and she was too hard now to be affected anymore. All she knew was her duty, meeting Nelson today had inevitably brought back forbidden feelings, but she would fight them and win. She would fight whatever scheme Nelson had come up with and win.

She had to, for her country's sake and her sanity's sake. Because a part of her wanted nothing more than to run down the road and throw herself in his arms.

A part of her still loved him.

A part of her the rest pretended did not exist.

* * *

Belinda frowned as she entered the dark foyer of her home. Upstairs she could hear voices, voices she did not recognise. She only had a skeleton staff, but they were all out right now.

Intruders…

She grabbed a sword from the wall, quickly dispensing with her veil. Treading on the soft, crimson Persian carpets, she climbed the stairs and followed the voices to an upstairs parlour in the wing that had been her father's rooms when he was alive.

Not pausing to listen to their conversation, she swung the door open and raised her sword.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. What are you doing in my house?" she asked imperiously, taking in the scene in front of her.

A young boy in ragged clothes stood beside a short, Chinese man with long black hair, clothed in garments that belonged in one of those ridiculous O'Bannon novels. At the moment, he was swathed in one of her father's dressing gowns.

Across from them, sat in a chair, with a cigar and a glass of brandy, was a tall blonde man, with a slightly twisted nose, like he'd been in a fistfight and his nose had borne the brunt of it, and twinkling blue eyes.

Simultaneously, the threesome's eyes widened comically, as they turned towards her.


	3. Memories II

Chapter 3: Memories II

An amused smirk crossed Rathbone's lips as he stepped out of the House of Lords. His eyes drifted across the square to where a familiar figure stepped into an unmarked coach, drawn by four matched chestnuts. His grin turned predatory, as he thought back to that kiss in the Parliamentary offices. He was quite certain that kiss had not been on Belinda's agenda when she sent him that note.

He would make Belinda Sinclair his Queen. There was no way he would let her escape him, not now, not since that kiss. Their collective hunger had only grown in the decade of separation. His mind turned from her to what she might possibly know.

It seemed Belinda didn't have any concrete notions of what he was planning; just that he was plotting against Victoria. She clearly knew nothing about the Imperial Seal, hadn't connected his recent return from the Forbidden City with its theft. But she would, soon. It was only a matter of time.

But how best to stop her?

Rathbone was still musing on the conundrum when his automobile was driven up, and the valet hopped out. Rathbone slid into it, instantly taking control as he drove smoothly out of the side entrance to the Houses of Parliament, and into the traffic of London.

Suddenly, he became aware of a presence in the car behind him, as he looked back and jumped.

"God! He snarled, finding himself face to face with Wu Chow, the exiled bastard brother of the Emperor of China. His partner in crime.

With a smug smirk, the Chinese exile folded his hands over the top of his intricately crafted cane.

Rathbone turned back to the road, gritting his teeth with a sneering frown. "Do you have any notion of what would happen if we were to be seen together? He snapped furiously, his tone low and dangerous. The ignorant dolt!

Wu Chow merely continued to smile, as he leaned forward slightly. "Since you have returned, I have yet to lay eyes on the seal," Wu Chow reminded him quietly, as Rathbone openly appraised the exiled nobleman from the corner of his eye.

He sighed impatiently. He wouldn't have to put up the odious little man for much longer, only until he ceased to be useful. Which would be soon.

"I'm hosting a Jubilee Ball at my country estate soon. Be in the stables at midnight, and you will see your seal," Rathbone told him coldly, as he reached into his coat pocket. When he'd awoken this morning, he'd had a feeling he would be seeing the Chinaman soon, and had kept his word.

He was, after all, a man of his word.

"As requested. A token of my esteem," he said, proffering the sheathed dagger he removed from his pockets. Wu Chow took it with a satisfied smile, and a sigh, removing the still bloody dagger from it silver sheath.

"I wonder…did the old man scream?" he breathed, his eyes glittering with malice. It made Rathbone want to roll his own with derision, but he did not. He understood the sweet taste of vengeance all too well.

Seizing his chance, Rathbone pulled over to the curb, ducking out of the traffic. "This is where you get out," he said sneeringly, just wanting the troublesome man out of his automobile before they were spotted. Wu Chow's eyes flicked up from the dagger, as he re-sheathed it and stepped out of the open car, turning back to Rathbone with an urbane smile.

"I hope there will be more trust between us, when I am Emperor, and you are the new king," he said, by way of goodbye, before he disappeared into the crowd. Rathbone stared after him disbelievingly, looking forward to the time when he would rid the world of that Chinese bastard personally. He had no intention of trusting the would-be Emperor, nor would he allow China the freedom it desired. That was where Victoria kept getting it wrong; it was time they took control. China quite clearly could not look after itself.

Freed from Wu Chow's presence, Rathbone sat back in his automobile for a few moments, his mind drifting once more.

His Jubilee Ball was tomorrow. He would be heading to his Salisbury Estate tonight, to oversee the final preparations for the soiree. That, plus his plans with Wu Chow, would leave him little time to deal with Belinda. The woman was a stubborn one, and she would not back down easily, but then maybe…

Rathbone's smile turned wolfish, as he considered his options.

Ten years ago, Belinda Sinclair had agreed to be his wife, and despite their long years of separation, he had no doubt she was still his. His wife in all but name and body. As far as he was concerned, she had better just get used to the idea, because he would never let her go.

Now he had her sights, she was his.

He wouldn't make the same mistake as ten years ago, of letting anyone come between them….

* * *

_Ten years ago…_

Rathbone sat atop his black stallion, awaiting Belinda's arrival. It was early afternoon, the sun streaming down into the secluded grove he'd found some days ago, which had become their meeting place. His gloved hands were tightly fisted over the reins, as he struggled to see through the red haze of anger that lay over his mind.

Edward Sinclair had refused to allow him Belinda's hand in marriage.

Why the old idiot refused his suit, he had no idea, but it seemed his lover's fears had become reality.

The sound of cantering hooves filled the air, as a familiar bay gelding came into the clearing. Rathbone caught his breath at the sight of its rider, beautiful and confident on horseback, her plum riding skirts swirling around her, her long mahogany curls freely draped down her back, restrained only by a small top hat perched atop her hair. Breathing shallowly from her canter, her eyes alight and her cheeks blushed with colour, she looked around for him, as he dismounted. The movement caught her eye, and she smiled gloriously as she dismounted also, and tied her reins to a branch.

Unable to let her see the anger on his face, he held his arms out and she rushed into them. He clasped her close, relieved to feel her soft body against his, her glossy curls playing over the back of his hand. Desperate for her lips, he tilted her chin and kissed her tenderly, his tongue slipping into her mouth. She moaned and pulled him closer, running her gloved hands through his hair. Leaving the warm cavern of her mouth, Rathbone pressed soft caresses to her jaw, following it down to her neck. Belinda shivered and instinctively arched her spine, her mind too fogged to think straight.

Abruptly, he left her skin, licking his dry lips, feeling dangerously overheated.

A few minutes more and he might have lost control.

Anger filled him once more, as he looked down on the young woman in his arms. If it weren't for her damned father, he wouldn't have to worry about losing control so much. He gritted his teeth, as Belinda's eyes opened, glinting like iridescent emeralds in the summer sun. She smiled slowly, like a cat stretching after a luxurious nap in the sun, and it took all his will not to set his lips back to hers.

"Well, were you successful? What did my father say?" she asked him breathlessly, hope setting her youthful face aflame. Rathbone tensed, and she must have noticed it because her face fell. "He didn't allow the match?"

Rathbone shook his head. "No, he did not. And I have just received news that my tour of duty has been brought forward another few weeks, so I leave for India next Monday," he told her sombrely. She exhaled shakily, leaving his arms and crossing them defensively. As if shielding herself from heartbreak.

"I knew this would happen. How could I have been so stupid?!" she muttered to herself, beginning to pace back and forth, as Rathbone stared at her.

"What are you saying?" he asked confusedly. Belinda turned to him with tear-rimmed eyes, and a dead expression in the once alive depths.

"I'm so sorry, Nelson. Father warned me off you the moment we laid eyes on one another. I should've known he would not accept your suit," she explained. "And now, we have no hope left."

She went to walk off, but Rathbone caught her around the waist, as the girl's composure slipped slightly.

"Not all is lost, my love. There is another option for us to follow, one that will put an end to all objection," he whispered into her ear, as she stood stiffly in his arms, clinging to the lapels of his riding coat.

"Why does he hate you so much?" she asked, still not looking at him. Holding her tighter, Rathbone shook his head.

"I don't know, my love. I don't know," he murmured against her hair. He had an inkling, a suspicion that Lord Sinclair knew, or at least suspected that he and his father were plotting against the Queen, plotting to remove her and place Rathbone back on the throne.

Clearly Belinda did not suspect him of anything, but raised her head and looked at him through tear-filled eyes. "I love you."

It had all the air of a goodbye to it. Rathbone hauled her body against his, his hands becoming like steel shackles around her arms. "Don't do this. Don't say goodbye," he said warningly, his voice a low growl. Belinda shook her proud head.

"What else can I do, Nelson? We cannot disobey my father and marry. What choice do we have left?" she asked him desperately, searching his eyes. He inhaled slowly, willing himself to be calm. The thought of her leaving him sent shivers of pain through his soul.

"We have one choice left, Belinda," he told her quietly. She watched him, her eyes narrowing.

"And what is that?" she asked, one brow rising incredulously.

"Elope with me. We can catch a train to Gretna Green and be man and wife in three days, long before your father can stop us. My family is unopposed to the match, they would shelter us," he explained enthusiastically. His father had congratulated him on finding such an excellent proposition for his future Queen, not that Rathbone saw her in those terms. He wanted Belinda for herself. He could care less about her aristocratic background or numerous connexions.

Belinda's eyes widened with shock. "But the scandal….it could destroy us. It'll destroy your career, any chance of a post as a foreign diplomat, Nelson. I won't let you ruin yourself for me!" she exploded wildly, struggling slightly in his grip. He held on tightly.

"It'll blow over. They always do. All society will see is your father's pig-headedness at refusing the match, and see us as forced into elopement, particularly when my father openly supports our marriage. It can work, Belinda!" he asserted forcefully. She winced at the pain of his hold, and he released her, looping his arms around her waist instead. "Forgive me, darling. Just don't talk about leaving me again. I can't bear the thought of it."

"I know. Neither can I," she whispered, leaning her forehead on his tenderly, and closing her eyes. "I love you so much."

In response, Nelson leaned forward and kissed her gently, slowly. She sank further into his arms, sliding her hands up his arms and into his hair once more. He angled his head over hers, deepening their kiss, laying claim to her mouth, if he could not yet lay claim to her body. He already held her heart.

Eventually their lips parted, breathing raggedly against each other's lips.

Belinda cleared her throat, looking down as she slipped his pocket watch from his pocket and checked the time.

"I must go soon. I shall be missed," she said regretfully, almost leaving his arms. He snatched her back again.

"Not yet," he murmured, taking her lips again. Sighing contentedly, she returned his passion for a few precious moments, before drawing back once more.

"I must go," she breathed, but his grip only tightened.

"You will think about the elopement?" he asked her, searching her beautiful, glittering eyes. She paused briefly.

"I shall speak to Father, first. But yes, I will think on it. I'll send a note to you, tomorrow morning," she promised him, nodding once, determinedly.

"Don't tell him we plan to elope if he refuses his consent once more," he replied warningly. She shook her head.

"I shan't. Now I really need to go," she said, trying to ease from his hold. He let her go, following her to her horse. He helped her mount, registering the hitch in her breathing when his hands closed around her waist with a slight grin. He mounted his own horse and led the way out of the grove.

The park was full with walking couples and governesses with their charges, and matrons of society's elite gossiping in barouches at the side of the paved avenues. Rathbone stopped his horse at the end of the trees, as Belinda reined in also, sending him a questioning look.

"If we leave together, we'll be signalling to society that I am going to offer for you. Rathbones do not ride with ladies in the park, on horseback or in carriages, except with their wives. It's an old tradition," he explained shortly. Belinda's eyes twinkled with amusement and exasperation.

"Men are such possessive Neanderthals at heart," she muttered, at which he chuckled. She shook her head ruefully, but inclined her head determinedly. "Lead on, my Lord."

He stared at her, stunned that she had agreed to publicly declare herself as his future wife, under the watchful eyes of society's elite. But then again, he'd expect nothing less.

They rode at a slow trot down the avenue, not stopping to talk or to register the shocked and speculative looks they received from onlookers. They smiled occasionally, inclined their heads, but did not get bogged down in social conversation.

Rathbone breathed a sigh of relief when they cleared the Park and began to trot down the road that led to Grosvenor Square.

All too soon, their ride came to an end, and Rathbone had to watch as Belinda rode away from him. He kissed her hand boldly, planting kisses on her knuckles and her palm.

There was worry and hope in Belinda's entrancing eyes, and he felt a shiver of foreboding fill his heart. Why did this feel like goodbye?

"I'll write to you tomorrow," she whispered, with a weak smile, before she turned aside. Rathbone stopped by the pavement and watched after her as she trotted into the mews. Before she disappeared around a corner, she looked back and said quietly, so he could barely hear her. "I love you, Nelson Rathbone."

Those were the last words she ever said to him, for ten long years. He arose the next day to hear that the Sinclairs had left England early, and were already on a ship back to Japan. A week later, he was shipped off to India, for a year long tour, before he resigned his post and took on another as a foreign diplomat. He stayed in India for four long years, before being re-posted to China. He had not been in England when his father had died, nor had he been there when Belinda Sinclair returned permanently to England. He didn't know until he returned to England eight years after he had last seen her, that Edward Sinclair had died of consumption and Belinda Sinclair was an orphan.

He didn't set eyes on her or hear from her for another two years, when one day he received a note after a session in the House of Lords.

It had been a long decade…

* * *

Rathbone smiled darkly as he dragged his mind back from the past, and pulled into the driveway for his London home. A servant hurried from the front doors, as the young Lord surely halted and hopped out of the automobile, and took it to be parked in the stables.

Another footman took his case of papers and cane as he strode into the house, empty and echoing despite the veritable army of servants that resided there.

Sighing, Rathbone gave a curt nod to his butler before escaping to his study, to read and recuperate from the sheer boredom of a Lords' session with a glass of brandy.

Outside the private haven of his study, the servants prepared for their Master's departure to his country house; whilst inside, Rathbone's mind once again lingered on Belinda Sinclair. After a moment's thinking, he laid aside his book and reviewed the guest list. His secretary should've included her on the list, as per the usual practices, and sure enough her name was there on the guest list for the Jubilee Ball. With a satisfied smirk, he sat back, crossing his legs contentedly. He had a feeling this was one event she would not refuse to attend.

His Belinda would come to him, and he would ensure she could not leave.

This time there was no Edward Sinclair to protect her from him.


	4. The Plan

Chapter 4: The Plan

Belinda moved forward, holding her sword with ease.

"I believe I asked you a question, gentlemen," she said, cocking one eyebrow. The blonde stood with an easy smile, stepping forward cockily.

"Why hellooo-whoa no need for that!" he said, as Belinda poked him in the stomach with her sword, pushing him back.

"Well then, answer my question, and I may not rearrange your internal organs," Belinda said pointedly. The blonde frowned.

"What is it with this country and psycho killers? This is your fault, y'know," he turned to the small ragtag boy, who crossed his arms defensively.

"I didn' know there wos anyone livin' 'ere! It wos all shu' up! Don' blame me!" the boy replied petulantly. Belinda rolled her eyes, before a flash of movement caught them.

The boy tried to duck sideways, running towards another open door when Belinda reached under her bustle and pulled one of her sais out. With one sharp flick of her wrist, the sai flew from her hand and impaled the boy's coat sleeve, pinning him to the wall.

"Oi, watch the coat!" the boy screeched angrily, despite the look of awe in his eyes. In answer, Belinda pulled out her other sai, holding it alongside the sword towards the two adults.

"You two had better start answering my questions soon, or I'll call the police, and more things than coat sleeves are going to get impaled. Understand?" she asked, a deceptively sweet smile on her lips. The Chinese man stepped forward, hands raised.

"I am Chon Wang, and this is my friend, Roy O'Bannon. We came here from America," he told her gravely. The blonde, or Roy, hissed.

"What are you doin' Chon? Are you crazy?!" he snarled. Belinda sent him a warning glance.

"She might be able to help us," Chon hissed back.

"That depends. What are you doing here?" she asked, not lowering her weapons. The boy was still tugging ineffectually at his coat sleeve.

"A few weeks ago, my father was killed by Lord Rathbone. Do you know him?" Chon asked, at the start of surprise Belinda gave, her eyes focussing on him.

"I do," she said evasively. "Most of the aristocracy know of Lord Rathbone. You say he killed your father?"

"Yes. My father was the Keeper of the Imperial Seal, and now Rathbone has stolen it. I must avenge my father's honour and save my baby sister," Chon continued. Belinda could hardly believe what she was hearing. Rathbone, a thief and a murderer?!

Then she remembered what her father had told her all those years ago, and again just before his death. There was nothing a Rathbone wouldn't do to achieve their goals.

She knew he was plotting against the Queen, but what did stealing the Imperial Seal have to do with any of this?

"Your sister? What does she have to do with any of this?" Belinda asked, recalling herself from the past. Roy jumped in before his friend could speak.

"Lin saw Rathbone kill her father and steal the Seal. Now she's in prison cos she tried to assassinate him," he told her excitedly. "We're gonna find the Seal and use it to prove Rathbone committed murder and theft, and clear Lin's name,"

"How are you going to do that? Rathbone is no defenceless dandy who can't handle himself. He wouldn't have been a foreign diplomat for so many years if he couldn't," Belinda argued. "You don't even know where the Seal is."

"That's where we could use your help," Chon said. "You know Rathbone, and you could help us get to him."

"The kid found this," Roy said, holding up an embossed square card. Belinda took it, reading it curiously. Most of the time, any invitations just sat on the mantel gathering dust until her friend and confidant, Orchid, decided to throw them away in defeat.

_Lord Nelson Rathbone requests the pleasure of your company at the Jubilee Ball, in honour of her fifty years on the throne_

"Hmm. How do you propose to get inside?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, as she eyed the two men.

"Well we wos jus' discussin' tha' when you came in and disturbed us," the boy piped up. Belinda swung around, piercing him with her gaze.

"Careful, boy. Another insolent word, and I shall have the police come to take you to a workhouse," she said. "This is my house. At least I should have called them to take you into custody."

"But you won't, cos I reckon you quite like us," Roy quipped cheekily. Belinda rolled her eyes and threw her sai at him. It hit the floor directly between his feet, inches away from his toes. "Whoa, no need to get touchy!"

"Like I said, how are you going to get in?" she asked, turning to Chon. "With the American Loudmouth over there, and Little Mr Sticky Fingers, you've very little chance had I not happened upon you,"

"It's true. With the security after Lin's failed assassination, getting into his country estate will be difficult. They're not just going to let us waltz in," Chon said, his thick Chinese accent becoming more evident as he became agitated.

"No, you'll need a disguise. No doubt Nelson will be on the watch for more retribution from China. You'll need transportation also. Nelson's country estate is on Salisbury Plain. You'll have to travel down tomorrow, so maybe I can help you after all," Belinda said, a slight smile dawning on her face. "But how do I know you're telling the truth?"

"You don't," Chon shrugged, and that alone convinced Belinda. She lowered her sword. "What is your name?"

"Belinda. Belinda Sinclair," she replied, striding across the room to retrieve her sais from the floor at Roy's feet, and the wall.

* * *

A few hours later her staff had returned from their afternoon outings, and Belinda introduced her guests as old acquaintances she'd bumped into in the street. She told the staff they would be accompanying her to Rathbone's ball. A frisson of surprise had run through her staff at the notion of their mistress finally taking her place in society and going to a ball. The next day they threw themselves into the preparations with gusto.

Roy, Chon and the boy were ensconced in the guest bedrooms, whilst Belinda readied herself for the long drive to Salisbury. She sat at her vanity, combing her freshly washed hair, so it shone and shimmered like silk.

Belinda's room was a high-ceilinged octagonal room, painted in shades of blues and lavenders, similar to her rooms in the British Consulate in Tokyo. Oriental paintings and wood carvings dotted the room, silk hangings with obscure Japanese figures adorning the walls. Her four-poster bed was carved in the likeness of Ionic columns, lavender blue gauze twined around the supporting beams. A large carved mahogany wardrobe stood in one corner, beside an escritoire.

Belinda looked around, making sure she had everything she needed for the coming night. Her sais were ready in their holsters, the katana shining on the bed. They would be easily hidden under her skirts.

The door opened and closed behind her, and she recognised the short, abrupt footsteps of her Japanese companion, Orchid.

"What is it, Orchid?" she asked wearily. Her companion had been none too pleased when she revealed she would be going to Rathbone's ball. Orchid had been one of the few people she'd confessed her past to.

"This ball is bad idea. If you go, I fear grave danger to you," she said, in badly accented English. The diminutive young Japanese woman, in a blue silk kimono, came and sat beside her.

"There is no danger, Orchid. I can easily take any guards or Boxers Rathbone may have hanging around," Belinda replied dismissively, beginning to put up her hair, securing it with combs.

Orchid shook her head. "Not to you, but to this," she said, pointing to the space where Belinda's heart beat. "Rathbone not good for you. Makes you forget duty,"

"I will not let him get close, I assure you Orchid. I won't let my personal feelings get in the way of justice," she replied. The Japanese woman shook her head sadly, before standing and walking to the wardrobe.

"You already have. Your heart is gone," she whispered to herself. Belinda pretended not to hear, as she watched Orchid rifle through her gowns. She pulled out a sedate black one, which had Belinda shaking her head.

"No, not that one. The red and black lace one," she said, standing up. She was clothed already in a long black leather corset, with close-fitting leather breeches in the same dark colour. Her ensemble was finished with laced up boots that hugged her calves, ending at her knees. Slipping some diamond earrings into her ears, and an exquisite diamond pendant around her neck, she looped her sai belt around her waist. Then, she strapped her katana to her leg.

Next, she slipped the bodice of her gown over her head, holding onto the bedpost of her four-poster, as Orchid laced it up. Slipping a black cloak over her shoulders, she was finally ready. She was at her most seductive, even she had to admit.

The red and black gown served to accentuate her flawless skin, whilst the draped skirts hid any sign of the weapons she carried. Her hair shone, and her eyes were radiant.

"You look like a glistening rose, blighted in its prime by a disease," she said bluntly. Belinda rolled her eyes.

"Thank you…I think," she said, turning back to her mirror. Orchid made a strange sign at her reflection, before she left the room.

Belinda sighed. Maybe her companion was right, maybe she was as a rose blighted by a disease in her prime.

She had chosen to place duty above love, but that insidious emotion was tearing her apart.

Taking a deep breath, she slid her hood over her curls, and walked from the room.

* * *

Belinda couldn't quite hide her smile as Roy and Chon came down the staircase. Over dinner last night, they had agreed it would be best if Chon adapted a persona that was as far from his Chinese identity as possible. So tonight, he played the role of a Maharajah. He was clothed in an olive green turban and suit, a single pearl dropping down onto his forehead. An iridescent feather floated upwards from a diamond arrangement on his turban. He looked decidedly uncomfortable.

Roy was clothed in the uniform of a colonial Major General, the towering hat and white feather matching the decadent silver embroidery on his lapels.

"Well, how do we look?" Roy asked, with a cocky smirk. Belinda placed her hand to her lips to stop from laughing.  
"Absolutely splendid," she said, gesturing to the carriage that awaited them outside.

"Shall we?"

Together the foursome, with the boy clothed as a footman, piled into the carriage and set off into the English afternoon, bound for the South and Rathbone Hall.


	5. Playing With Fire I

Chapter 5: Playing With Fire I

Belinda fiddled with her gown, self-consciously tugging at the lining of her bodice. It was the first time in two years that she'd worn anything other than black, and she felt vulnerable, even though Roy's admiring gasp and Chon's appreciative smile reassured her slightly.

She'd left the duo and their little sidekick outside, with strict instructions not to enter until ten minutes had passed. She didn't want Rathbone connecting her arrival with theirs, not if she could help it.

She steeled herself for the cacophony of whispers that would ensure when she entered the ballroom of Rathbone Hall.

The elusive Belinda Sinclair, out from under her veil at last.

Taking a deep breath, she handed her card to the butler and smoothed down the front of her gown. She was about to plunge into the tiger's den.

The butler started when he read her card, his haughty exterior slipping for a moment. Belinda couldn't quite hold back a smirk, as he wordlessly turned around and led her towards the ballroom.

Rathbone Hall was lit by a hundred crystal chandeliers, the intimidating stone walls and battlements lined with flickering torches. The gravel drive crunched under the wheels of carriages as they unloaded their glittering cargo. Within, the ancient, Gothic interior of polished wooden panels and stone floors echoed with life and music, laughter drifting across the Entrance hall. Suits of armour flanked the walls, keeping silent vigil over the ancestral halls of the Rathbone family, the portraits of the current Lord's ancestors lining the walls. All around stood priceless artefacts and vases from all corners of the Orient, a testament to the owner's diverse career as a foreign diplomat.

Belinda gathered all her strength for the ordeal to come, as the butler led her to a curtained balcony leading out onto a staircase, which descended into the glittering ballroom. Lit candelabras and golden candelabrums lined the walls and the corners of the room, casting a golden light over the smartly dressed crowd below. Watching from behind a curtain, Belinda's practiced eye ran over the assembled guests as she let another couple go ahead of her.

She distantly recognised Inspector Doyle, in a sensible tweed suit, from Chon and Roy's description. Her eyes drifted over her former circle, taking in the evening suit clad men, in black and cream waistcoats, and the haughty matrons of society, in pale coloured gowns. As usual Belinda had gone against convention, for a very good reason. Before she had left the Orient, she'd had made several gowns with detachable skirts which allowed her to wear beneath them her trousers and boots, her weapons hidden beneath her voluminous bustle.

Belinda's gown was a creation of deep red silks, covered in black lace, floating around the lower half of her torso like a ruby waterfall. The bodice clung to her corseted waist, the long sleeves opening up from her elbow in an Asian style, whilst the elongated V-shaped ruched neckline showcased the delicate skin of her collarbone. She'd scooped her long, dark hair up and back, securing it with some small antique silver combs. Small diamond droplets hung from her ears and at her throat.

Her eyes finally alighted on the man she'd been looking for. Lord Rathbone stood conversing genially, in a suit made of some midnight black material, a faded golden cravat and cream waistcoat. In the crowd of men in dark coats, he was the darkest of all.

"Suits your black heart, Nelson," she muttered under her breath. Even now she still had difficulty crediting Chon's story, although why she hadn't connected the dots sooner, she didn't know, but what was in stealing the Imperial Seal for Nelson, she couldn't comprehend. Perhaps the Chinese Boxers were going to help Nelson against Victoria?

"My Lady, may I announce you now?" the butler asked beside her. Belinda tore her eyes away from her former fiancé's face, and inclined her head.

"Please do so," she said quietly, firmly. She couldn't wait to see the looks on her former circle's faces when she arrived out of the blue. She took a deep breath and stepped up beside the butler.

"My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present the Lady Belinda Sinclair," he announced in a strong, echoing voice. Plastering a small smile on her face, she stepped out into the candlelight, aware of one gaze in particular on her face as she descended amidst a ripple of whispers.

Rathbone looked up from his conversation with the Foreign Secretary when he heard that name, his eyes instantly going to the stairs, as a wave of triumph swept over him. She was here!

She was a vision in blood-red silk and black lace, gliding down the stairs, imperiously staring down the large amount of impertinent onlookers; gawping at her like a cat had landed amongst the pigeons.

A moment later he felt desire rise, at the sight of her lovely face. When he got his hands on her mourning veils, he would take great pleasure in tearing them to shreds with his bare hands, so they could never mask the beauty of her face and eyes again. It had matured from when he'd last seen it, refined and more angular, lost its youthful fullness.

A kitten grown into a cat.

"Well Rathbone, I see you've managed to entice society's favourite recluse out of her den. Congratulations, you sly old dog!" the Foreign Secretary chuckled, watching the young woman descend into the crowd with interest. Rathbone sent him a sidelong glance, before inclining his head.

"It must be my magnetic personality," he replied dryly, taking a small sip of champagne. Not too much; he had an important business meeting later on with Wu Chow, and he needed a clear head.

"Who knew she was hiding such a pretty face under that thing? And now her father's gone, I hear she brings in a pretty penny from his fortune," Lord Rannoch said with a leer. "Twenty thousand a year, and she's unattached. A good prospect for one such as I,"

Rathbone's head snapped around, looking on the young bounder with dislike. "You mean because your acres are mortgaged to the hilt, and you are in desperate need of a rich wife?" he said sneeringly, as the Foreign Secretary whistled through his teeth. Lord Rannoch glared at him, before flouncing off. Rathbone was glad of it; he'd never liked the peacock of a man, and he wouldn't have him trying anything on his Belinda. A powdered and rouged woman hanging onto his arm leant forward, an eager smile on her face.

"I've never seen you quite so sharp with him before. There were those rumours about you and her ten years ago…." she began, obviously waiting for Rathbone to answer. Rathbone sent her an annoyed glance, choosing to ignore her comment.

"Excuse me," he said abruptly, retrieving his arm and leaving the group. The woman chuckled to herself before turning critical eyes on Belinda's slender form now traversing the crowd.

"Not that I can see what all the fuss is about. Her hair is awful, and as for her gown…She needs a new modiste," she sniffed dismissively, unable to hide the bitter sting to her tone, as the Foreign Secretary and her watched the most eligible bachelor in English society walk away, heading towards the most eligible bachelorette in English society.

The Foreign Secretary smiled and shook his head. "About time too Belinda," he murmured, too low for his companion to hear.

Belinda could see Rathbone heading towards her and slipped sideways in the crowd, not wanting to face him just yet. She glided through the crowd, blending in despite her brightly coloured gown. This was child's play for her.

Rathbone cursed under his breath as he tracked Belinda's dark head through the crowd. The little fox was eluding him far too easily for his liking, but then, he'd always enjoyed the hunt. He just needed to bring in the dogs to hem her in.

A few minutes later, the dogs arrived.

Still trying to track Belinda through the crowd, Rathbone was arrested by the sight of two men appearing at the head of the staircase, dressed as ridiculously as could be. One had the appearance of a maharajah, the other a colonial general.

"My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present Major General Sherlock Holmes and His Majesty, the Maharajah of Nevada." Henderson, his butler, announced them with a slight flash of derision in his tone. Rathbone smirked, his eyes fixed on them as they descended the stairs, all but disappearing into the crowd but for their towering headgear.

Inspector Doyle stepped up beside him, and diverted his attention, as his mind flew back to the assassination attempt by that troublesome Chinese girl a few days before. He still had bruises from that encounter.

"How are the security arrangements, Inspector?" he asked wryly, as he tracked the two new arrivals through the crowd. The shorter of the two, the 'maharajah', was not Indian, he'd bet his entire fortune on it. He was Chinese. He'd spent too much time in both countries not to be able to tell the difference in their physiognomy. Was he an agent of the Imperial Court, sent after the Seal?

Who was his accomplice?

Doyle set aside his plate, clasping his hands together, an expression like a puppy dog in the presence of his master appearing on his face. "Swimmingly, my Lord. And if I may say so, on behalf of Scotland Yard, it is an honour to be guarding your Lordship," he said obsequiously. Rathbone smirked, his eyes still tracking the newcomers through the crowd as they stopped at the buffet table. A second later, he caught a flash of red and mahogany as Belinda came into sight once more, inclining her head at Lord Rannoch. Rathbone maintained his relaxed posture, sure that Belinda wouldn't spare so much more than a glance for the salivating dandy.

He was not disappointed.

Doyle's next comment had Rathbone looking back at him, narrowly and with great annoyance. "I know I speak for everyone when I say that, no matter how far you are from the throne, you'll always be number one in our hearts!" Doyle said enthusiastically. Rathbone's amused smirk quickly turned to restrained annoyance, and the promise of retribution, before he disappeared into the crowd without another glance for the sheepish inspector.

* * *

Rathbone negotiated his way through the crowd, inclining his head and exchanging social pleasantries with his guests. He spotted Lord Rannoch in a corner, looking very disgruntled, a sight that relieved his ill humour after Doyle's remark.

Belinda paused in her manoeuvring when she spotted Rathbone moving in on Chon, as he stood at the buffet table. Without another thought, she headed towards them, determined to prevent any fireworks. If Chon attempted to assassinate Nelson, it wouldn't help them find the Seal, or to find out what Nelson was planning.

She wandered up casually just as Rathbone opened his mouth, hanging back to check their conversation before entering it.

"You should try the quail," Rathbone started, with a social smile, his dark eyes on Chon's face. She saw Chon swing towards him with the meat knife, and stiffened, stepping forward boldly. "I shot them myself this morning."

"So modest, Nelson. I'm sure you had help," she quipped, moving to stand beside Chon, sending him a warning glance, as he lowered the knife. Rathbone's focus snapped to her, as a knowing glint settled in his mesmerising eyes. Belinda suppressed a shiver, reminding herself of what she had learned yesterday morning.

He was a killer and a traitor.

"Lady Belinda. How nice to see you out from under your mourning veil," he said, with a graceful incline of the head, one she returned.

"How do you do, Your Lordship? My Lady?" the 'maharajah' said, bowing slightly at the waist, glaring at him cautiously before directing his gaze to Belinda. A dead giveaway on its own, disregarding the accent. It was identical to the keeper's in China. Rathbone's smile grew, as the 'maharajah' turned his attention back to him.

"Very well, thank you. I'm not at all familiar with the…Nevada province," he began, waiting for some sort of reply. He didn't get one, as Belinda's jaw firmed. "But then I haven't been to India since '81. I spend most of my time in the Orient," he finished, shrugging casually, as if the existence, or lack thereof, of the Nevada province was of little consequence.

"I hear you have just returned from China," the 'maharajah' replied politely, his olive eyes narrowing. Belinda cocked her head with artful interest.

"You are well-informed, maharajah," Rathbone quipped, a slow smile growing on his face.

"I owe that to my acquaintance, the Lady Belinda," the maharajah replied cautiously.

"Ahh, yes?" Rathbone asked, curious to hear their cover story. He was sure they were working together now.

"We met in the Imperial Court at Tokyo. His Highness was a guest of the Emperor for a short time, whilst he was travelling," Belinda lied smoothly, not liking where this conversation was going. She could feel the waves of tension emanating from Chon, the anger and the need for revenge rising every minute they stood there with Rathbone.

"Ahh. It is my dream that the Chinese will follow the India's example, one day, and embrace British rule," he said, trying to provoke the 'maharajah' even further into giving himself away. The man before him stiffened, his chin tilting proudly.

Mistake number three.

"The Chinese are very proud. They place family and honour above all else," he replied coolly, as Belinda's eyes rose to Rathbone's face. He was achingly aware of her, standing not two feet away.

A beat of silence followed, as the English Lord's smile turned cruel with secret knowledge. "Well, I'm sure we can break them of that,"

Belinda opened her mouth, unable to stand his provocative remarks any longer.

"Perhaps, my Lord, you might consider that the colonies could have values they can teach us. After all, the Empire is not all-powerful or all-knowing. I think it sheer folly if we were to try to paint all the world in our image, and destroy so much wisdom, beauty and knowledge for our own vanity," she argued smoothly, fixing her eyes on his. Rathbone turned to her with an amused smirk, inclining his head.

"Perhaps, my Lady. But we have been neglecting you, my dear. I must circulate, but perhaps my Lady Belinda would agree to accompany me? We have much to catch up on, after our long absences from this country," Rathbone said, holding out his arm. Seeing no other or better option for getting Rathbone as far away from Chon as possible, she smiled graciously and took his arm.

"If you'll excuse us?" Rathbone continued, looking to the 'maharajah', inclining his head mock-respectfully. The little Asian man returned the gesture, a false smile on his face; a fell promise in his eyes.

"Until we meet again," he said, as Rathbone led Belinda away, and into the crowd.

* * *

Belinda tried not to shiver when Rathbone led her out of the ballroom and into his private study, a warm room panelled with bookcases and decorated in a Venetian style. Directly opposite the ornate mahogany doors was a marble hearth, carved with likenesses of twin women, bare-breasted. A fire popped in-between their undulating forms, shedding warmth over the room. Belinda glided into the room regally, walking past an ornate globe, Rathbone's desk and paintings of his ancestors to scan the bookshelves absently. As though she wasn't bothered by being alone with a man who was once her fiancé.

Not bothered at all.

Her heightened hearing picked up the scrape of a key in the lock, and she spun to face Rathbone, standing before the door as he slipped the key into the pocket of his waistcoat, a predatory glint in his eye.

"Now, at last we can talk freely," he said suavely, stepping forward. Belinda held her ground, staring him down disdainfully.

"Why did you steal the Imperial Seal?" she asked bluntly, folding her arms in an attempt to hide the traitorous shivers racking her limbs at his graceful approach.

"My, my you are well-informed. Courtesy of your 'maharajah' friend no doubt," he replied calmly, no hint of surprise showing on his lethally handsome face. The firelight glinted off his raven hair. Belinda scoffed, her heart sinking. Did he know about Chon and Roy? "Oh yes, I know about your little friends," Rathbone continued, still walking slowly towards her. It was really becoming unnerving now. Belinda slid to the side, keeping him in view.

He was as lethal as a jungle panther.

"It wouldn't have been difficult, even without their assistance," Belinda said, deciding to give up her innocent act. He'd only see through it anyway. "Your return from China, just days before news of the theft reached London is too much of a coincidence for anyone of any intelligence,"

Rathbone smirked. "You've just insulted most of the population of the Empire there, Belinda. I am free from suspicion, I assure you," he replied suavely. His face flickered, hunger burning unguardedly in those dark orbs for a split second, as he came at her a bit faster. "But we have other, more important matters to discuss, Belinda."

She turned her back, knowing it was foolish, but she couldn't keep up eye contact with him. She was weak around him, and she wasn't vain enough to not admit it.

A moment later, she felt his hot breath on her nape of her neck, whilst her eyes scanned the bookshelves desperately for a distraction.

"You have quite a collection, Rathbone. I'm impressed," she murmured, maintaining her calm composure, despite the dizziness his proximity evoked. Her eyes fell on a gold bound copy of the Kama Sutra, as they widened in shock. "A bit risqué for you isn't it, Rathbone?" she asked, looking over her shoulder.

Rathbone chuckled, enjoying the visible shiver that ran down her body at the vibrations against her back. He pressed closer, looking over her shoulder at the provocative volume. "I picked up much more than a book from my time in India, dearest Belinda."

"Ahh, yes. No doubt you learnt a few things whilst in the colonies," Belinda's tone turned slightly cold, as he detected an undercurrent of jealousy in there. His smile deepened.

"You could say that," he muttered. She humphed impatiently, her chin tilted haughtily. The movement exposed the pure, marblesque skin of her neck very nicely indeed.

"Why am I not surprised?" she murmured sarcastically, and he could imagine her rolling her eyes in derision. This time the undercurrent of jealousy and bitterness was evident, amusing the English Lord greatly, as he leant forward and touched his lips to her ear.

"None of them held a candle to you, my love. Every time I was with a woman, I thought only of you," he murmured, his tone dripping seduction, as he raised his hand and slid Belinda's sleeve partway down her shoulder. She shivered.

"Nelson, don't-"

"You know, technically, we never broke off our engagement, Belinda. So you're still my fiancée," he said, before he lowered his lips to her smooth skin.

"No-" she began, before a low moan escaped her lips.

"Yes," Rathbone breathed against her skin, before sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her back against him possessively. With every hungry, open-mouthed kiss on her neck and shoulder, she sank further into his arms, defenceless. He relished her helpless surrender, as another low moan escaped from her lips.

It was clear she knew about the theft of the Seal, and of the murder of the Keeper, but she couldn't help her desire for him anymore than he could for her.

She was his.

"Marry me, Belinda. I need a strong woman by my side…I need you," he murmured against her neck, shuddering at the feel of her yielding body in his arms. Precisely where she belonged.

Belinda was drowning in warmth and pleasure, at the feel of his lips caressing her flushed skin. Her chest rose and fell ever more raggedly, whilst a pulsating ache pounded through her body. She knew it was wrong, that she shouldn't be standing here, in the arms of a traitor and a murderer, but she couldn't remember how to escape. Her mind was blissfully blank, until Rathbone's words punctured her hearing.

Strength flowed into her veins, as she forced herself to remember everything Roy and Chon had told her of his infamy, and she pushed away his arms, twisting away from him.

"No. I will not give in to a traitor," she said forcefully, clenching her fists at her sides, as she marched into the centre of the room. Rathbone turned to her with an unruffled expression, smiling urbanely.

"My dear, your will won't come into it. You can't fight me, your responses just now have told me that much. You're still mine," he murmured, in a low, seductive tone. Belinda shrugged.

"I won't have to fight. All I need do is tell the Queen about your plans, Rathbone, and you're finished," she lied, trying to bluff. It didn't work.

"That would be problematic, if you knew my plans. Running to Victoria with a far-fetched tale of me stealing the Imperial Seal won't get you anywhere. Comes of being her favourite cousin," he replied smoothly, stepping closer. Belinda found herself retreating, until she felt the wooden edge of the desk behind her back, pressing into her skirts. Foolishly, she looked down and behind her, only to look up and find Rathbone had trapped her against his desk.

Two strong arms appeared either side of her on the desk, their muscled forearms and steely sinews covered in black Bath superfine stating quite unequivocally that she wasn't going anywhere.

"Why do you try to fight me, Belinda?" he asked, his brown creased in puzzlement, as he leant forward. Trying to avoid his lips, knowing she was lost if he kissed her, Belinda leaned back. "Why fight what has only been growing between us for ten years? Your father is gone now, nothing stands in our way."

"Just a little thing called treason," Belinda retorted coldly, eying him narrowly. She had to get out of here, and try to find the Seal. But the door was locked, she couldn't leave….

Rathbone had the key in his waistcoat pocket.

Her eyes had gone distant whilst she thought, but the sudden feel of his lips in the hollow of at the base of her neck had her wits scrambling to reassert themselves.

"No, don't-" she began, ending on a long sigh as her head seemed to tip itself back of its own accord, giving him better access to the skin of her neck. Rathbone took instant advantage, lathing Belinda's sensitive skin with red-hot caresses designed to wear down her resistance to him. One hand slid around her waist, stabilising her, whilst its mate rose to her neck, tipping her head back further as he kissed up the long column.

Rathbone trailed his lips up and over her chin, hovering over her lips. Belinda's eyes opened, glazed over with desire and longing. A longing he had every intention of fulfilling.

Belinda looked into his dark eyes, full of passion and hunger, and felt her knees go weak. His lips brushed hers, making them come to life, parting slightly before he took her mouth. It was slow and tender and passionate, unlike the hunger of their kiss in the Parliamentary office. His tongue claimed hers in a slow, languorous invasion, sending shivers down her spine.

It escalated, tender desire transmuting to urgency as hard muscles grew harder, and soft limbs softened even more. She gasped into his mouth when she felt his hands slide down her back and swept over her hips. A moment later she was taken off her feet, and perched on the edge of the desk. She grabbed his shoulders for balance, pulling him against her. Her lips, already bruised and hungry for his, throbbed under his now rough mouth, and the hardness pressing against her abdomen. With a low moan, she slid her hands into his hair, arching when she felt a hand slide over her aching silk-clad breast. Pleasure unlike anything she'd ever known spiked through her, at the heavy weight of his hand resting there, as she pressed herself into his palm. Abruptly, he left her mouth, and covered her neck in hot kisses, working his way down to her collarbone. He lingered over her birthmark, rendering her weak and limp in his arms.

Wait, no, no, no! She wasn't going to give in to him. She'd said she wouldn't, and she still had to find the Seal. And for that, she needed to get away from Rathbone, change and find Roy and Chon.

Struggling to realign her scattered wits, whilst Rathbone continued to devour her body, Belinda slid her hand down to the pocket she knew held the key. Keeping her hand suspended over his abdomen, trying to ignore the feel of stony muscles beneath her palm, muscles that only tensed further at her touch, she pulled his head back up to hers.

Their lips met once more, both dishevelled and breathing raggedly, as unnoticed at first by Rathbone, she slid the key from his pocket. Triumphantly, she held it up behind his head, unable to resist smiling into his mouth.

Rathbone felt the movement, felt her satisfied smirk, and laughed inwardly. As if his wits were that addled he'd let her get away that easily.

Moving quicker than a tiger, Rathbone wrenched from her lips and snatched her wrist down.

"Ah, ah, ah not so fast. We're not finished here," he said, smilingly smugly at the look of surprise on her face. "Clever, my dear, but not clever enough,"

"Can't blame a girl for trying," she quipped, pulling herself closer to him. He watched her darkly, fighting to think through the morass of lust her soft body pressed against his elicited.

"Indeed. You truly are a beautiful snake. My beautiful snake," he murmured against her lips, before brushing them teasingly. Belinda trembled, closing her eyes against the shivers racking her spine, before opening them again with a new resolve.

"Let me go, Rathbone. I have a traitor to stop," she snarled warningly. Rathbone wanted to roll his eyes in exasperation.

"Well heaven help this poor fellow when you catch up with him," he muttered jokingly, holding her tightly in his arms. "Seriously, Belinda, why not consider my proposal? Be my wife, stand by my side. Join me," he continued. To his slight surprise, Belinda looked down, biting her swollen bottom lip.

"I-I can't, please don't ask that of me," she murmured, her voice a painful whisper. Rathbone cleared his throat, his voice still hoarse.

"I'll give you a few days to think on it," he said, releasing her. She nodded, still not meeting his eyes, as she slid off the desk. He tipped her head up, and saw an unfeasible amount of vulnerability in her green eyes. He bent his head and kissed her ravenously, a kiss she fully reciprocated, latching her arms around his neck and pulling herself against his body. He finally broke the kiss when he heard a distant clock strike the hour, and he checked his pocket watch.

Quarter to midnight.

"Think about my offer, Belinda," he murmured against her lips. She nodded.

"I shall," she promised, before leaving his arms. She turned to go, reaching the door when Rathbone cleared his throat. She spun around.

"Forget something, Belinda?" he asked, holding up the key. She rolled her eyes as he chuckled and threw them to her. She caught them with honed reflexes, ones that had Rathbone's brows rising.

When had she gotten so fast?

"Until we meet again, my lord," she murmured, slipping out of the door.

"I'll be waiting," Rathbone called, just as the door closed with a gentle click, and he turned to his desk.

* * *

Outside Belinda leant heavily against the wall, breathing hard. A satisfied smile crossed her swollen lips, as she realised she'd gotten away with her lie.

"See you soon, lover," she muttered under her breath, as she walked determinedly away, to find a quiet corner where she could change.

* * *

By the way 'Belinda' means beautiful snake.


	6. Playing With Fire II

Chapter 6: Playing With Fire II

Belinda raced back through the corridors of Rathbone Hall, staying in the shadows, making it back to her carriage. Roy and Chon were nowhere to be seen, and even the boy was missing when she made it to where the carriages were parked. She slipped inside, fingers already fumbling at the laces of her bodice.

She unclipped her bodice, sliding it off to reveal her black corset. Next she slipped off her skirts, revealing her black breeches and boots. Flinging aside the red silks, she felt under the seat for the package Orchid had placed in here that afternoon. At last her fingers touched a brown paper parcel, tied with white twine, and she hauled it out. Quickly undoing the knots, she tore the paper, to reveal a shapeless black piece of clothing, something Americans liked to call a pullover. It wasn't very common or fashionable, but it would do. She pulled it over her head, after which she took off her diamond jewellery. The last items were a long black cloak, which she swung under her shoulders, and a long whip which she attached to her hip before she unstrapped her katana and readjusted its belt so it hung from her back instead.

Ready, she slipped from the carriage like a shadow, nothing more than a swish of her cloak to alert anyone to her presence.

No-one saw a black shadow slip back into the brightly lit surrounds of Rathbone Hall, as the clock struck ten to midnight.

* * *

Belinda ran through the castle, looking desperately for Roy or Chon or the boy. Where were they?

She sprinted past a window, and a flash of movement caught her eye. She skidded to a halt and rushed to the window, watching as a Chinese man in coattails and a cloak strode through the shadows towards the stables. Belinda looked around wildly, but there was no way she could run down there in time. Her gaze fell on the window.

There was no time to fetch Roy or Chon. She trusted they would find their own way, or at least find the Seal whilst she followed this mysterious Chinese visitor. He seemed dimly familiar.

She unhooked the catch, just as she heard the tramp of booted feet along the corridor. In the distance, she could hear cries and shouts, echoing from Rathbone's library if she wasn't mistaken.

Chon and Roy, no doubt.

She sighed heavily, as the footsteps came nearer, running now. She pushed the window wide, and dropped feet first. A second later, she landed on the grass verge below, none the worse for wear for dropping from a second story window. She set off at a run, her long cloak flapping soundlessly behind her.

She reached the stables as a distant clock chimed midnight. She slipped inside the open barn from a side door, and stopped dead. Rathbone stood with his back to her, swathed in a long black cloak. Belinda shrunk back against the wall, praying she would blend into the shadows. She watched her former fiancé closely, scrutinising his face.

He seemed aggravated, as he checked his pocket watch, now one minute past midnight. Belinda smirked.

_Someone not showing up when you order, Your Majesty?_

Belinda's thoughts were sarcastic when she saw a flash of movement out the corner of her eye. She caught sight of a strand of golden hair.

Roy.

Quietly, trying not to rustle the straw, she crept back to the stall where Roy, Chon and an unfamiliar Chinese girl were hidden. Chon Lin, presumably.

"Boys!" she hissed, sliding into the stall next to them. Roy and Chon stuck their head over the top of the stall.

"Belinda!" they breathed.

"How'd you get in?" she asked, raising her eyes above the stable door to theirs. And Lin's.

Lin's foreign eyes stared at hers with blatant hostility and suspicion.

"We found a secret room in Rathbone's study. A secret passage led us here," Chon told her in a scarcely audible whisper. She nodded, as she spotted movement in the shadows beyond Rathbone.

"I'm going to get closer, if I can. If we get separated, where should we meet?" she asked, her eyes on the tall figure of Rathbone.

He looked far too attractive in evening clothes for his own good.

Belinda could feel her mouth dry, remembering their interlude in his study. It still made her ache with desire.

Focus, Belinda!

She'd been so distracted, she barely heard Roy's whispered reply.

"We'll meet up back in London. The Puss'n'Boots, Whitechapel," he breathed in her ear. Belinda stared at him, aghast, before she rolled her eyes at Roy's cocky grin.

Men.

"What? One of the sailors on the ship recommended it to us," he said defensively, with a shrug. Chon pulled his head down, as Rathbone's head twitched in their direction, before looking at his watch again. Belinda ducked down into the shadows and crept back to her original position.

* * *

Rathbone was becoming impatient as he waited in the stables, the smells of horses and fresh hay filling his senses. Where was the damned man?

His head snapped around, as a muffled sound reached his ears. He listened with all his might, fingering the contraption that would launch a fully loaded Derringer into his palm, ready to shoot.

Silence, apart from the chomping of horses and the rustlings of mice in the hay, reigned.

Rathbone turned back to wait for Wu Chow, only to find himself face to face with the Asian. He jumped out of his skin.

"Must you keep doing that?" he asked disdainfully, when his heart rate settled once more.

"I was taught not to be seen or heard," Wu Chow replied with an urbane smile, one that unsettled even the cool Lord Rathbone. The Oriental held out his hand expectantly. "The Seal."

"I am a man of my word," Rathbone replied tersely, drawing an exquisitely crafted artefact from his pocket, the largest diamond anyone had ever seen at its centre. Wu Chow took it reverently.

Belinda gasped as she saw the Chinese step into the light. She knew his face, had met him once at the Imperial Court of Japan. The bastard brother of the Emperor of China.

What was Rathbone doing with him?

"I remember watching my brother play with this like a baby rattle. When I'd try to touch it, the Dowager Empress beat me," Wu Chow said, a reminiscent gleam in his eyes. She heard Rathbone's sigh.

"No doubt your deprived childhood made you into the man you are today," he remarked solicitously.

"Wu Chow!" she heard the others exclaim quietly behind her.

"Wu who?" Roy muttered confusedly. Belinda rolled her eyes. Americans!

Tuning out Lin and Chon's explanations, she focussed on Rathbone once more. She fought to ignore how the candlelight from the stable lanterns played over his strong face.

"I'll assume everything's in place?" Rathbone said quietly, keeping his eyes on Wu Chow.

"You have nothing to worry about. It's all in place," Wu Chow replied quietly, staring at the Seal hungrily. At this comment, Rathbone held out his gloved hand commandingly.

"So for now, our business is completed," he said smoothly, yet both he and Belinda caught the flash of annoyance over Wu Chow's face when he handed over the Seal. Rathbone slipped it back into his pocket, as Wu Chow turned and disappeared into the shadows. Torn, Belinda looked between the two men, wondering who to go after.

Lin, Roy and Chon could take care of Rathbone and the Seal. She needed to go after Wu Chow and find out his plans with Rathbone.

Plus he was the safer option.

Decided, Belinda shot a farewell glance over her shoulder at the trio, before slipping into the shadows and out of the barn by the way she came.

Outside, the moon bathed the courtyard, but Wu Chow was nowhere in sight. No trace of his direction remained, he'd just disappeared.

* * *

The sounds of gunshots rang out, alongside shouting and angry cries in the barn, as Belinda turned back worriedly.

She ran to the entrance, and stopped dead. Rathbone was struggling with Lin, a small pistol in his hand, whilst Roy was crawling along on the floor, chasing something. Chon she couldn't see at all.

Suddenly, Rathbone flung Lin away from him, and into her brother as he raised his pistol.

Making sure her hood was over her face, Belinda uncoiled her whip and flicked her wrist. Its tongue wrapped around Rathbone's wrist, pulling his shot off target. Dropping her whip, she stared in horror as the bullet hit a lantern and it fell to the hay, sparking it into flames. Rathbone didn't spare a glance for her, rushing forward and pulling a stack of hay bales down, to stop Roy, Chon and Lin in their tracks as the flames began to mount.

Slipping into the shadows, Belinda watched as Rathbone slammed the doors shut and bolted them. There was no way she'd be able to heft that bolt, so there was only one option left.

Springing into action, Belinda did the only thing she could. Tearing her cloak off, she rushed at Rathbone from behind and dropped into an anti-clockwise kick. Her boot hit him in the small of the back, pushing him to the ground, as she rushed to the side of the barn, looking for any rafters she could pull herself up on.

She could Chon shouting within, above the crackle of flames.

"It's stuck! Lin! Go, you can do it!"

A moment later, Chon's sister appeared out of a skylight in the barn roof, pulling herself free and rushing into the darkness. No doubt to pursue Wu Chow, Belinda thought absently, as Chon's shout came again.

"Roy! Come on!"

"Chon, what in our history together makes you think I'm capable of something like that!?" Roy yelled incredulously.

"Roy!"

"I can't do that!"

"Hurry up!"

Belinda rolled her eyes. "Oh for heaven's sake!!" she snarled, her eyes locking onto a support beam that stuck out from the main structure.

Rathbone recovered from his unknown assailant's attack, and scrambled to his feet, covered in hay and soot from the fire. Hearing a voice snarl impatiently at the two loons' arguing, he spun around, raising his pistol arm.

And witnessed something he'd never seen before.

A black clad woman jumped and climbed up the side of the barn, swinging from rafter to rafter, flipping onto the roof. She sprinted forward, kneeling beside the skylight. The flames lit up her uncovered visage, and Rathbone gasped.

He knew that face.

Belinda knelt down by the hole, from which smoke billowed.

"Chon! Roy!" she yelled. Roy and Chon paused from their argument and looked up.

"Belinda!" they both shouted, hope appearing on their faces. She slipped Rathbone's keys from her pocket, having 'forgotten' to replace them in the study earlier.

"Behind you. Take the automobile!" she nodded at the shiny contraption. She leaned down and threw the keys to Roy, who caught them shakily. The two men coughed as the flames grew, becoming an inferno. "Hurry!"

They disappeared, and a few minutes later, she heard the roar of an engine as a flash of gunmetal grey sped past underneath her. She smirked as she rushed to the other end of the roof, and watched with amusement as Rathbone was forced to leap aside to avoid being run over.

Within minutes, the automobile had disappeared into the English night.

Inhaling deeply, Belinda readied herself for another confrontation, as she drew her katana and dropped from the roof, landing lightly on her feet.

* * *

Rathbone stood shakily, pure rage rushing through his body. Because of those two idiots, his entire plan could go up in smoke, like the barn behind him.

Wu Chow was compromised, the Seal had been stolen by some ragtag boy and Looney Lin, the Keeper's troublesome daughter was on the loose.

So much for security!

But as he heard a gentle _swoosh_ behind him, and he turned, that anger turned to a new subject.

This was all Belinda's doing.

"My, my Nelson. You're looking rather hot and bothered," she quipped, smirking confidently. Rathbone's eyes ran over her clothing.

Black leather breeches, a black corset covered by a low cut shirt that hugged her form, and a leather overskirt, slit in several strategic places so her leg movement was unimpeded. Her long hair was uncoiled from its intricate style, her jewellery gone. This woman was pure warrior. The weapon she held was Eastern, and so was the fighting stance she settled into. His eyes ran over the two exotic-looking knives at her hips.

Belinda was stood, with her right leg bent at the knee, lowering her centre of balance, the other leg extended slightly. She held onto the katana two-handed, upright in front of her defensively.

Faintly impressed and surprised under the simmering anger, Rathbone smiled slowly and dangerously.

"You are full of surprises, Belinda," he said curtly. "I must admit this is unexpected."

"I aim to surprise," she smirked once more, a smile that sealed her fate. Rathbone smiled predatorily as he saw the shapes of several Boxers emerge from the gloom.

"As am I, my dear," he replied, as they drew up behind her. She spun, dropping into an ankle sweep. She took out two Boxers, as the rest jumped to avoid her attack. She twirled her sword around, in a silvery flash of metal, and two more Boxers screamed in pain as the blade bit into the flesh of their chests and arms.

"Impressive," he murmured. A Boxer managed to get a kick in, and Belinda lost her sword. Temporarily unarmed, and unable to draw her sais, she went hand to hand. She punched at one Boxer's jaw, before spinning into a roundhouse kick. More Boxers appeared from the shadows, as she turned and ran towards the barn wall, now flaming.

She ran partway up the wall, before flipping over two Boxers' heads, and lashing out with a devastating airborne kick. A Boxer kicked her in the midriff, knocking her down with a grunt. She jack-knifed to her feet and threw herself into a backwards flip, her boot impacting into the jaw of one more Boxer, bam, bam!

"Very impressive!" Rathbone said, his voice lowering into a purr, as his anger ebbed. He strode forward and aimed his pistol at Belinda. Unknowing of this, Belinda continued to block and jab and punch at his Boxers, until in her fight, she spun to meet him, as he blocked her fist and held it in his own.

Her eyes widened, and she tried to yank her fist away, but Rathbone merely pushed her away, into the waiting arms of his Boxers.

"Stop fighting, Belinda. I have no intention of killing you, but I will shoot if necessary," he said coldly, aiming at her with the Derringer again.

She stopped fighting, and allowed herself to be taken by the Boxers. Behind him, Rathbone could hear the men from Scotland Yard shouting and running, as he gestured toward Rathbone Hall.

"Take her inside. Put her in my study and make sure she doesn't escape. Don't be seen," he barked, that last said in a warning tone. The Boxers melted into the darkness, taking Belinda with them, as Rathbone turned to deal with a very wet Inspector Doyle as he came rushing up with his police constables.

* * *

Belinda listened with an amused smirk at the annoyed, enraged tone of Lord Rathbone as he stood in the entrance hall, and upbraided Doyle.

"Yes, these are the men who attacked me," Rathbone said shortly, flinging a drawing of Roy and Chon in their costumes back at the constable. Belinda hid in the shadows of the staircase.

She hadn't been imprisoned as she'd feared, but neither could she escape. Boxers were at every escape route, even the secret passages, and she had no intention of running into the law. Rathbone had them in his pocket, anyway.

So she just watched with amusement, as Rathbone's blood pressure went up a few notches.

Doyle was foolish enough to step up beside the enraged Lord with a sheepish expression and bad news.

"The assailants have temporarily eluded us, my Lord," the inspector said apologetically. Rathbone turned to him with a scornful attitude. God help the inspector! Belinda couldn't help but chortle.

"Perhaps you could explain to me how Looney Lin managed to escape from the confines of Scotland Yard under the watch of the most respected police force in the world!" Rathbone asked, with exaggerated patience.

Doyle smiled, interest and wonder sparking in his dull brown eyes. "Yes, of course. It's absolutely fascinating. She picked the lock using a deck of rather risqué playing cards, then scaled the walls with a mop, a fork...and various pilfered undergarments. You've got to hand it to the Chinese, they're awfully ingenious, Lord, aren't they?" Doyle explained excitedly, completely misreading the emotion building in Rathbone's eyes and face.

Belinda smirked.

"Does your incompetence know no bounds?!" he shouted, sending the inspector scurrying for cover, as he waved away the constables, his eyes rising to the stairs, where Belinda had stood not moments ago.

Time to deal with a more pressing problem.

* * *

Belinda sat back in her chair in Rathbone's study, propping her feet up on his desk as she listened to his footsteps come striding along the corridor.

She put on an, as she well knew, infuriatingly knowing smirk, twining a ringlet around one finger as she waited for him.

A moment later the door opened, and he strode in, intimidating and predatory in his torn evening suit. Belinda caught her breath, as she saw the soot marks on his face, and the ripped sleeve of his suit from her whip.

"Well, you and your little friends have caused me quite the problem tonight, my dear," he said, striding to a decanter of brandy on the desk. He poured two crystal glasses and handed one to her, walking around to perch on the desk beside Belinda.

He drained his in one swallow, before placing it very precisely back on the desk. His dark eyes rose to Belinda's, challenge glowing in their infinite depths.

"Aren't you going to drink? After your exertions tonight, you are, no doubt, in need of refreshment," he remarked suavely. Belinda cocked an eyebrow, before maintaining eye contact whilst she drank down the brandy in one go.

The alcohol burned down her throat, easing her tired muscles.

At Rathbone's surprised look, Belinda shrugged.

"Whisky is nothing to sake, trust me," she said by way of explanation.

"I'm impressed and surprised anew. No doubt your skills were learned in the Orient," Rathbone remarked sarcastically. Belinda rolled her eyes.

"Do I detect a note of reproach in your voice, Nelson? Because I didn't tell you about my past training with the Japanese Ninjas and the Samurai?" she asked sarcastically. "Poor little Nelson."

A second later, he had grasped her by her hair, pulling her neck back at a painful angle. "Don't provoke me, Belinda. I'm in no mood to play tonight."

"Good, neither am I," she snarled back, getting her hands around his wrist and twisting, breaking his grip on her hair. She threw a sideways jab to his head, but he blocked it and twisted her arm. Yelping in pain, Belinda kicked his feet out from under him, forcing Rathbone to his knees. Freed from his hold, she spun and kicked out, her boot smashing into his lip. Rathbone collapsed to his elbows, but had enough presence of mind left to kick back with his leg, catching Belinda in her stomach.

She flew back and hit the bookshelves, collapsing to the floor, winded.

"What is it with women and kicking me in the bloody face?!" Rathbone asked rhetorically, as he stood up, groaning at strained muscles and new bruises to go on top of the old ones Chon Lin had given him. Walking painfully over to Belinda's prone form, he nudged her with his shoe.

"Belinda?"

A second later he collapsed with a cry of pain as her boot came up and struck him in a very tender area.

"That's for cracking at least one of my ribs. Arsehole!" she managed to say weakly, as she rolled over onto her back. Rathbone collapsed beside her, as they lay together on the floor of his study.

They lay for a few moments, regaining their breath, before Belinda managed to speak. "What will you do to me now?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"Simple. I'm not going to do anything to you, as such, but you _**are**_ going to tell me everything you know, including where that street rat has taken the Seal," he said quietly, his voice a bare whisper. Suddenly he turned over onto his side, looming over Belinda's still prone form. "So why don't you make it easier for both of us, and tell me what I want to know?"

"You don't give up, do you?" she groaned, as his hand slid up her bruised torso and over the exposed flesh of her neck.

"Never," this last was a breathed whisper against her cheek, as he surrounded her with his presence. Belinda struggled to breathe through the vice already constricting her lungs, and the cracked rib wasn't helping.

"I have an idea. Why don't you tell me what you're doing with the Imperial Seal, an exiled psycho from China and what 'is all in place'? Sound good?" Belinda countered stubbornly. Rathbone sighed, running his lips over her cheek desirously, before exhaling heavily.

"You heard my conversation with Wu Chow in the barn then. Hmm, but you still don't know my plan, and you won't find out. At least not yet," he said, sitting up slowly. He grabbed the desk for support, pulling himself up, as Belinda did the same. Rathbone collapsed into a chair, wincing, before he spoke again. "Hu Li! Ming Zi! Huan Tei!"

Three Boxers appeared from nowhere, bowing at the waist towards Rathbone, before silently awaiting instructions.

"Take the Lady Belinda home, and make sure that she stays there. I shall deal with her presently," Rathbone said tiredly, waving them away. Belinda struggled to stand, anger giving her strength, blocking out the pain. A Boxer reached for her shoulder, and she flipped him onto his back on the marble hearth painfully. Rathbone shot her a disgruntled look.

"If you could refrain from incapacitating my men and putting dents in my hearths, Belinda, it would be most appreciated," he sighed wearily.

"I'll put dents in a lot more than that in a minute. You won't get away with this, Rathbone! You can't just place someone under house arrest with a bunch of Boxers without someone noticing!" she said scornfully, her anger breaking through. Rathbone smiled charmingly, gesturing lightly with one hand.

"Your concern is touching," he smirked knowingly. Belinda scoffed derisively in reply.

"Don't flatter yourself, Nelson! You can't get away with this!"

"Oh yes I can, especially when one is placing a known recluse under house arrest. As for the Boxers, they'll stay out of sight of the general public. I'll be along soon, to continue our discussion. Perhaps a few hours might give you time to think on your resistance," Rathbone told her, his urbane tone beginning to return to his hoarsened voice. She envied him his quick recovery.

Angrily, she turned on her heel and strode from the room, followed by the Boxers, until she was forced to pause at the door of Rathbone's study.

"Oh, and Belinda?"

Belinda didn't answer, just stared at the door.

"My proposal is still on the table. I advise you to think on it," he murmured quietly. Belinda glared at the wood, before it was opened and she strode through.

But before she left, she had one last parting shot for Rathbone.

"In your dreams, arsehole,"

Rathbone shook his head, as he poured himself another brandy.

"That girl has been spending too much time around that American."


	7. Moonlit Walk

Chapter 7: Moonlit Walk

The afternoon after the incident at Rathbone Hall, Belinda was still under house arrest in her London home. The summer sun streamed into her disused ballroom, haloing Belinda's form as she moved through different positions with her sais. Her training shirt and breeches stuck to her skin from sweat as she moved through the motions.

All around her, hanging from the chandeliers and the ceiling of the ballroom, were sandbags, ready to drop at any moment.

Outside, and in the hallway, Boxers stood, guarding the woman inside.

Her staff was confined in their rooms, unable to leave the house. Belinda had once tried to find a way out, but the Boxers were too numerous. She'd be lucky to make it as far as the alley that ran behind her house before she was caught.

So now, she was held inside, slowly going insane through inaction, practicing her martial arts, just to keep her sane.

Imagining the sandbags were Nelson Rathbone's head helped.

Inhaling deeply, focusing on her centre, her Chi, she moved gracefully through the motions of the sai. She kept her eyes closed as the sandbags dropped around her, and she struck in a flurry of silver blades, interspersed with a kick or two.

Lord Rathbone slipped out of his carriage, outside the Sinclair mansion, smirking slightly. The Queen's Jubilee was only a few days away; they needed the Seal for their plans to proceed.

Chon, O'Bannon and the girl had disappeared off the radar for the time being, the mysterious boy unfindable. They needed to find either the troublesome trio, or he could try using Belinda.

Rathbone knew Belinda wouldn't give up the location of her friends, either through torture or through other means, as he'd taken great pains to explain to Wu Chow. But it was possible they might be able to trick her into leading them to their goal.

Smiling with that plan in mind, Rathbone stepped into the deserted front hall. Looking around, he frowned slightly at the distinct lack of life, until he heard the sounds of fighting coming from what he guessed was the ballroom. Gripping his cane, which concealed a sword, he walked quickly in the direction of the noise.

What he saw had him pausing, arrested.

Belinda's form as she twisted and slashed at dropping sandbags, an utterly focussed expression on her face, those exotic knives in her skilled hands. Sandbag after sandbag was slashed in half, as golden sand spilled onto the polished floor. Her long, untied hair flew behind her as she twisted and spun and flipped through the air gracefully, her eyes closed.

She seemed to be using her hearing alone to sense where to aim her weapons. The sheer precision and grace of her as she fought imaginary foes had Rathbone catching his breath.

At last Britain would have a monarchy to be truly proud of. A monarchy that could stand strong and unafraid, independent and powerful. With Belinda as his Queen, they would be unstoppable.

He just needed to convince her of that.

Finally Belinda opened her eyes, as one last sandbag dropped from the ceiling, and she fell gracefully into a perfectly executed forward roll, flinging her sais away from her as she rose from it, a bestial battle cry tearing her lips. They spun through the air, impaling the unfortunate bag, as sand spilled like golden blood onto the floor.

She rose, her chest rising and falling, as her quick hearing picked up the sound of deep breathing behind her, the scuff of a shoe against the floor.

The swish of a cloak, the tap of a cane on the parquet tiling.

Belinda's jaw firmed, as she inhaled deeply. Sure enough _his_ scent filled her nostrils, he who she really wanted to throttle for locking her up in her own house!

"What are you doing here, Rathbone?" she asked coldly. At his surprised gasp, Belinda turned, smiling smugly.

"Surprised again?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips as she watched him intently.

Rathbone was clothed in his usual dark suit, and a blood-red waistcoat and matching cravat. There were dark circles under his eyes, indicating lack of sleep, as he strolled forward, his cloak floating around his strong frame, his cane tapping on the floor. Belinda eyed it warily; sure it contained a hidden blade.

"You always surprise me, Belinda," he replied, stepping forward confidently. He walked casually over to the last sandbag, still slightly intact. "You missed one."

With a growl, Belinda whipped out a hairpin dagger from her curls and spun, the knife flying from her fingers, hitting the sandbag between Rathbone's fingers.

He sighed, extracting his fingers wearily. "Are we a little frustrated, Belinda?"

"A little," she snarled. Ignoring him completely, she strode over to the sandbag and retrieved her weapons. "You try being imprisoned in your own house!"

Rathbone rolled his eyes, watching her covertly as she glided over to a table and placed her weapons upon it.

"It needn't be this way. Join us, and you'll have your freedom and more besides," he said, his voice slipping into a persuasive tone, one he'd used countless times when arguing a point during a debate in the House of Lords.

"And commit treason against my monarch? Dream on, Rathbone," she snarled, suddenly spinning around, an old-fashioned duelling sabre in her hands.

"Careful, Belinda. Samurai sword techniques are all very well, but you're out of your league here," Rathbone said arrogantly, as one eyebrow rose superciliously.

"You're modesty incarnate, Rathbone," she said through gritted teeth, just as she swung her blade at his head. In a flash, he got his cane up and blocked her attack. He pushed her away, as he unsheathed his sword.

To his surprise, Belinda flipped backwards and then settled into a traditional 'en garde' position.

"My father had me instructed from the age of eleven. After my mother's death, he did not wish me to be a mere passenger of fate as she was," she said by way of explanation. An anticipatory smile dawning on his face, Rathbone shrugged off his coat and cloak, leaving him in shirt, cravat and waistcoat.

"Have it your way," he said, grinning, before he lunged. Belinda parried and twirled away, Rathbone following.

They duelled up and down, striking and parrying with the speed of vipers and the force of lions. Rathbone, despite his years of experience and battle hardiness, was surprised again by Belinda's skill. He blocked another strike, as they fought, using all his experience and cunning to outwit her.

But Belinda was not going to go quietly.

Their blades crashed, as he drew Belinda in, grabbing her wrist with his free hand and yanking her close. She gasped as she was crushed against his chest, sweat now trickling down both their faces. Rathbone fought not to notice how much her shirt clung to her sweaty skin.

"How's your ribs, Belinda?" he asked with a cocky grin, as she winced slightly. Her beautiful eyes narrowed.

"Bruised," she muttered, trying to free herself from his lock. He spun her around, her blade the only thing separating his from her body. His hot breath tickled the skin of her neck. "Pity the same can't be said for you."

Rathbone's smirk was slightly strained as her body shifted provocatively against the evidence of his growing desire.

"I wouldn't call it a pity, Belinda," he breathed against her ear. He let his free hand wander down from her waist, as her breath hitched.

"Don't you dare!" she growled, flicking her leg up in defence. Her boot caught Rathbone in the face, pushing him backwards as Belinda whirled, flicking her sword back into the 'en garde' position.

Rathbone stumbled, bringing his hand up to his bleeding lip.

"You'll pay for that," he said, as he looked up to see Belinda's satisfied grin. He stood unsteadily, blinking away stars. "That's the second time in 24 hours you've caused me bodily harm."

"Oh, poor Nelson. Consider it an eye for an eye and all that," she said, gesturing to her bruised rib.

With a barely leashed snarl, Rathbone thrust his blade at her smug face, a blow she quickly parried and riposted. He parried once more, as they spun and twirled through the motions of the fight, as the sensitivity of their skin intensified and it felt like every brush of the air against their bodies was pure agony. All of a sudden, their fight had shifted, becoming so much more.

Belinda gasped, beginning to tire, her muscles aching. She fought not to notice how Rathbone's muscles tensed and bunched beneath his shirt, how the afternoon summer light played over his classical features.

She was not in the mood for her treacherous emotions to start acting up.

A second later, she paid for her lapse in concentration as Rathbone slammed her into the wall, grabbing hold of her wrists, pinning her there with his body, their blades locked above their heads.

Belinda struggled to breathe, her gaze falling against her will to his lips; hard and stern and as uncompromising as granite. She felt his eyes on her own mouth, as compulsion beat steadily in her veins. She dragged her eyes up from his tempting lips, and to his eyes.

That was worse.

His eyes were on fire with hunger and need, flickering darkly. They were her undoing, as her mind went blank.

A clash of metal echoed in the hall, as they simultaneously released their grip on the handles of their blades, and reached for the other. Rathbone's lips devoured hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth with a desperate intensity. Belinda clung to him, as he shoved her farther back against the wall. A second later she felt her feet taken out from under her, as his hands gripped her thighs and lifted her, crushing her body against his. Belinda ran her hands through his hair, feeling its silky texture under her sensitised skin. He shuddered, as she felt the smooth surface of her weapons table under her legs, and Rathbone set her down. His hands released her legs to pull at her shirt, so the creamy skin of her collarbone was revealed. He groaned into her mouth as his cut lip twinged, from the ferocity of their kiss, as Belinda pulled him closer. Frantic, she pulled his waistcoat and shirt open, exposing his muscular chest, running her hands over it hungrily.

At the feel of her soft hands caressing over the planes of his stomach, Rathbone shuddered. The need flowing through his veins, the need to have her like this, her body pressed to his, submitting to him, was irresistible. Ravenously, he left her mouth to lavish heated, devouring kisses down her neck, laving and sucking the tender skin, primal desires the only thing remaining in his mind.

Belinda gasped and arched, her hands gliding around to clasp his back, keeping him against her as his hands explored her bound breasts and slender waist. Her hand clenched in his hair as he bit down on one particularly sensitive patch of skin on her neck, before laving her birthmark with his tongue. She could feel him throbbing against her, and she was too heated to think.

All she knew was that she wanted him now.

"Nelson…" she breathed, her warm breath in his ear making him shudder. Releasing her neck, he took her lips again, twining his hands in her silken hair, roughly exploring all he knew was his.

He eventually stilled, feeling how dangerously overheated he was becoming, knew he had to stop this now. He left her lips, still holding her close, staving off the physical agony of yearning.

"Say you'll be mine, Belinda, and you will have it all," he whispered against her lips hoarsely, his voice nothing more than a low growl. Her dazed eyes sharpened, focus coming back into them.

"I'll never be yours, Nelson," she murmured. He sighed wearily.

"I grow tired of these games, Belinda-"

"Then stop playing them!" she countered angrily, before he silenced her with a look. A second later, he claimed her mouth aggressively, roughly. Defiantly, she bit down on his lower lip, making it burn as he pulled back.

He touched his fingers to his lip, staring disinterestedly on the blood staining his fingertip, before he raised his gaze back to Belinda. She still sat on the table, her chest rising and falling raggedly, her eyes fixed on his rebelliously, even whilst her body cried out in protest and agony. Telltale shivers rippled under her skin.

"We know the boy has the Seal. My men are scouring the city as we speak. And your friends will no doubt be in our custody soon, Belinda, so this pitiful resistance is useless. You will be mine," he said coolly, reaching out one hand to her face, noticing complacently that the skin of her neck was marred by numerous red marks, signs of their forceful passion.

"Never," she vowed quietly, watching him guardedly as he strode away, swinging his cloak around his shoulders.

As soon as she heard the front door slam, she stood from the table, her back hitting the wall and sliding down it, as her breathing increased, and she grew dizzy.

Oh God what was she doing? Why did she lose such control around him, at his touch, at his kiss?

"My lady?"

At the familiar call, Belinda tensed, frantically buttoning the front of her shirt back up, as she stood.

Orchid walked into the ballroom, looking around for her mistress. "My lady, you are well?"

"Perfectly," Belinda replied, her eyes going to the Boxer standing behind her at the door. "Actually, I'm feeling a little fatigued. I might retire," she said, gesturing for Orchid to follow her. The young Japanese trailed behind her, as they walked quickly past their Boxer guards and up into her bedroom.

Instantly, Belinda turned to Orchid and whispered in a fierce hiss. "Don't raise your voice. We must be quiet."

The Japanese nodded. Raising her voice, Belinda went and sat on her bed.

"I might sleep awhile, Orchid. Stay with me," she said, stripping off her sweat-soaked shirt.

"Yes, mistress," Orchid replied demurely, stepping carefully up to the door, and listening intently. A moment late she nodded.

Belinda exhaled.

"Rathbone just came to see me. He and Wu Chow know that boy has the Seal, but they don't have him. They think Roy, Chon and Lin know where he is. I have to warn them," she explained hurriedly, keeping her voice down cautiously.

"How you going to get past the Boxers?" Orchid asked, frowning. Belinda walked to her wardrobe, opening it speculatively.

"I'll have to wait until nightfall. I'll have more chance then," she said, pulling out a spare cloak, and her black attire. Orchid shook her head worriedly, stepping up beside her mistress, placing one hand on her shoulder.

"You is injured, Belinda. You cannot go, besides you have no weapon," she said dejectedly. Belinda shook her head as she knelt and felt along the bottom of her wardrobe.

"Just before Father died, he gave this into my care. A present from Master Hu when we left Japan," she replied, finding the hidden latch. Springing it, the false bottom clicked open and she hauled it free. Within the hidden compartment was an intricately crafted sword, which glittered as Belinda drew it from its leather sheath.

The handle was folded gold filigree and steel, in the manner of a British cavalry sabre, but the blade was thin and straight, delicate as a grass reed. It was inlaid with jade and golden Japanese symbols for honour and courage.

The sheath itself was of worked leather, with a golden snake twining its way up the length, green jade orbs glittering in its eye sockets eerily.

Belinda flicked her hair over her shoulder, plucking one strand and testing the blade's sharpness on the delicate wisp. It cleaved it easily, as Belinda sheathed the sword once again, standing decisively from the floor.

As the light fell on her skin, Orchid gasped. "Your neck!"

"What is it?" Belinda asked, looking up at her companion frowningly. "And hush, not so loud!"

"It is red and marked. Like…" Orchid trailed off, as comprehension dawned, and disapproval seeped into her eyes. Alarmed, Belinda rushed to her vanity, and tilted her head so she could see the red marks on her neck. A moment later she groaned.

Feelingly.

"That bloody arrogant toad!" she snarled under her breath, as she looked at the marks Rathbone had left on her neck.

"Rathbone. He did not just come to talk," Orchid said matter-of-factly. Belinda inhaled, closing her eyes, as her mind replayed everything that happened between her and her former fiancé in the ballroom.

"It's nothing. He's nothing," Belinda said, throwing her sword onto the bed, and crossing to her washstand.

"Belinda…"

"Orchid, please. I know my duty," the young woman cut her off tersely, wetting a cloth and dabbing it across her skin.

"Which duty? To your country, or your heart?" Orchid replied shortly, before she walked out the room. Belinda sighed, before she growled and threw her cloth at the other wall, before collapsing on her bed.

"You bastard, Rathbone," she muttered, as she turned her head to look out at the waning afternoon.

* * *

Rathbone felt frustration sink in, as he climbed into his carriage. He leant his head back against the velvet padding, and closed his eyes.

If Belinda didn't agree to be his soon, he'd go insane.

The damned woman could have his head spinning in two seconds flat, even though it was clear from her kiss and her untutored passion that he was her first lover.

Her only lover.

He exhaled wearily through his nose, licking his dry lips that even now ached for her.

When he opened his eyes, it was to come face-to-face with Wu Chow.

Startled, Rathbone flinched before he relaxed.

"This routine is becoming tiresome," he sighed sneeringly, before Wu Chow leaned forward, his face serious and no longer at all playful.

"Did the girl take the bait?" he asked shortly. Rathbone nodded once, his indifferent mask drawn over his true feelings once more.

"Hook, line and sinker. She will lead us to the others, and they will tell us where to find the Seal," Rathbone said quietly, turning to look out of the window. They were still stationary outside of Belinda's house, before Rathbone tapped on the roof with his cane, as a whip cracked and the carriage rolled forward.

"Will she leave now?" Wu Chow asked, settling back into the carriage. Rathbone shook his head as he crossed his arms.

"No, she will not. She'll wait until nightfall, so as to have the best chance of escaping unseen and undetected," he explained succinctly. Wu Chow nodded, as they rounded the corner in the road.

"You know her well," the Chinaman remarked casually, his piercing eyes on Rathbone's tense face.

"Reasonably. An old acquaintance turned thorn in my side," the young Lord replied repressively.

"Hmm."

"What?"

"From the marks on your neck, and the state of your hair and clothes, I would say she is rather more than an old acquaintance," Wu Chow replied, a triumphant smile appearing on his thin lips.

Stiffening, Rathbone glared at his accomplice, before looking out the window once more.

"She is beautiful," Wu Chow continued. "Courageous, skilled and spirited. Can you control her though? Will her loyalty to her Queen win over her affections for you?"

Smiling a shark-like grin, forced though it was, Rathbone looked back at the Asian disdainfully.

"Well, we'll just have to see if I can break her of that," he murmured arrogantly. Wu Chow chuckled.

"Poor Belinda Sinclair," he shook his head, before his face sobered and his voice became stern. "When you find Chon Wang and the others, bring them to me. You know where,"

At the man's tone, like a schoolmaster to a slow child, Rathbone bristled and longingly stroked the switch that would spring a loaded Derringer into his hand. But not yet, he controlled himself, turning to Wu Chow with a pained smile.

"I'll see you soon," he replied through gritted teeth, as Wu Chow stepped out onto the street, disappearing into the crowd.

Inhaling deeply, Rathbone dragged his mind from Belinda Sinclair, and the conundrum she presented, and back to the task at hand.

Finding the Imperial Seal.

Child's play.

A predatory grin lengthened Rathbone's aristocratic lips, as he sat back against the seat of the carriage.

* * *

Belinda stood at her bedroom window, clothed and cloaked in her black garb, waiting for the sun to fall beneath the horizon, her sword hanging by her side. She heard the door open and close behind her, Orchid's reflection reassuring her she was not discovered.

"You are ready?" the Japanese woman asked, gliding across the floor gracefully. Belinda inclined her head coolly.

"As you see. Keep my escape a secret for as long as possible. If I do not return, take this to the Foreign Secretary, Castlemere. He'll know what to do with it," she told her friend, taking a package from her escritoire and giving it to Orchid. The Japanese raised serious brown eyes to Belinda's green ones, inclining her head.

"I will," she murmured, hiding the package in the depths of her long sleeves. "Belinda, I have a word of wisdom for you."

Belinda remained silent; sure she would only give her yet more words on resisting Rathbone.

"Do not fight your soul. It shall all come to the good," Orchid whispered, before she left the room as silently as she'd come.

Belinda's forehead creased with confusion.

* * *

Rathbone waited in the alleyway behind Belinda's home, his eyes scanning the shadows for a familiar figure. A sudden flash of black glimpsed out of the corner of his eye had him spinning around, as a black-cloaked figure stood on the border wall, balancing on its narrow edge.

Cries in Chinese echoed behind her as she jumped from the wall, landing splay-legged on the alley floor. Not sparing a glance behind her, she set off in the opposite direction from Rathbone's hiding place, her cloak flapping around her booted limbs. Several Boxers followed her over the wall, racing after her, as Rathbone smiled a satisfied smirk.

_You have somewhere to be, my darling? The hook and the line have caught you, Belinda. I'll have you soon, my love._

Rathbone's thoughts turned dark in anticipation, as he followed at a leisurely pace behind his men. Soon, he would have the location of the Seal, those troublesome foreigners and his future queen in his keeping.

As he turned a corner, an amused smile turned the corners of his lips up.

She had been chased into a dead end, as his Boxers closed in. Rathbone sensed the arrival of five more Boxers behind him, but he held his hand up, signalling that they were not to move into the light.

Belinda dispatched her assailants, with a speed and a grace that took Rathbone's breath away, even as he grimaced in consternation at the defeat of his men.

He noticed she fought not with strength or brute force, for she could not equal the Boxers in that respect. She was a woman, and was limited by her conformation, but she drew them in with speed and cunning. She made them come to her, using all her ingenuity to fight, and her agility and flexibility allowed her to bend and flow around their attacks and their holds. She was as slippery as a serpent.

With one final spinning kick, she finished her attack, his Boxers lying prone upon the floor. She glanced around before slipping once more into the shadows.

Rathbone and his men followed.

* * *

Belinda inhaled as she left the alleyway behind, moving into the open streets where, at least, she could not be openly attacked. Even there, she kept to the shadows, moving quickly, for walking the night in London was not safe.

Thieves and rogues stalked the night, but so did something else. Something far worse.

The bloody swath of Jack the Ripper had devastated London, and its societal elite, and it was common knowledge that no young lady should walk alone, even in daylight.

And here, a young lady was walking into the heart of Jack the Ripper's bloody kingdom. Whitechapel.

She had to be mad.

At least she was armed, and not just with cold steel but with her knowledge of martial skill. She was no easy target.

The buildings of London passed into the fog that rose from the sewers and the Thames, as she quickly walked through the neighbourhoods, looking for the Puss'n'Boots.

Feeling a shiver rack her spine, she rushed into a run, sprinting through the alleys and backstreets as she entered Whitechapel at last. She had an awful feeling she was still being followed.

"Try following this, Rathbone," she snarled under her breath as she took a running leap and grabbed onto the sign of a tavern, shuttered and dark. Using its hinges, she swung up, latching her legs onto a roof beam and pulling herself into a standing position. She pulled herself into the gap between two roof beams, and into the attics.

In the old terraced houses, the attics were all connected, only barred from one another by locked doors. No trouble for Belinda.

The darkness closed in upon her, as she ran, kicking open the doors, careful to stay upon the oldest and thickest beams.

Finally she reached the last house, and she descended as silently as a ghost into the house below. Padding into an uninhabited bedroom, she unlatched the window and dropped from it quickly, disappearing into the shadows below.

* * *

Raucous cries and shouts filled the air, as Belinda emerged into the light of the torches, and saw the hanging sign for the Puss'n'Boots.

"At last," she breathed, slinking around the courtyard into the shadows, looking for a way she could get in and enquire after Chon, Roy and Lin without giving her identity away. She was more than formidable enough to protect herself from the lechery of men but she couldn't be bothered with it tonight.

She slipped into a side alley, and was just contemplating how to enter by secret, and search the premises herself, when above the cries of women and men, a few words in Chinese filtered through, in a woman's voice.

Chon Lin.

Belinda's mind effortlessly translated the phrase, as she ran towards it source.

"_%?!*#-ING LOSER!"_

Definitely Chon Lin.

"Lin!" she cried, rushing around the corner to find the Chinese woman bent over the parapet of a bridge, staring down into the river below. The woman straightened, sending her a suspicious glance, her stance battle ready. Belinda flicked her hood up, but the suspicion on the young woman's face did not abate.

"Lin!"

"Lin, there you are!"

Roy and Chon rushed around the corner, their trousers and shirts dishevelled and untucked, relief on their faces as they rushed up.

"Don't you know there's a serial killer on the loose?" Roy asked incredulously as they halted in front of the pair, only then noticing Belinda. "Belinda! You found us then!"

"Yes," she breathed, moving forward. "We must move. Rathbone knows the boy holds the Seal, and he is scouring the city for him and for you. You must find him and hurry!"

Chon nodded, but Lin glared at her scornfully.

"Why should we trust you? You are a traitor!" she said quietly. Roy and Chon looked at her nonplussed, as Belinda stared at the woman.

"Lin, Belinda helped us get into Rathbone's place, and helped us escape!" Roy said confusedly.

"NO! She's with Rathbone! I saw them!" Lin exploded angrily, pointing one finger at the English Lady. Belinda's heart sank.

"What do you mean?" Chon asked, staring at Lin and then at Belinda.

"In the library, I saw them. She's with him!" Lin repeated, as Belinda closed her eyes.

The game was up.

"Belinda?"

Roy and Chon's questioning stares bored into her back as she looked out over the river.


	8. A Tale Of The Past

Chapter 8: A Tale Of The Past

"What she says is true," Belinda murmured, but at Roy and Chon's angered growls, she hurried to explain. "To an extent! I am not with Rathbone, in any of his plans, but what Lin saw in the library…."

Belinda turned to face the trio, maintaining eye contact with them determinedly. "On my honour, I am no traitor. What you saw, Lin, was the by-product of ten years of separation from a man I once loved. Ten years ago, I was a debutante, the daughter of the British Ambassador to the Japanese. For a short term, we returned to London and I made my bow to the Queen and to society. There, I met a young man, a nobleman; a cavalry officer. Lieutenant Colonel Lord Nelson Rathbone, and I was impressed by him, dazzled. I was young and naïve then, and I fell in love with him,"

Roy and Chon's eyes were incredulous, as her hair fell over her shoulder.

"Uhh…Belinda, you've got a-a…" Roy muttered embarrassedly, gesturing at her neck. Belinda glared at him confusedly. "Y-you've got a hickey on your neck…"

"Oh for goodness' sake," Belinda rolled her eyes.

"Continue with your story. What happened?" Chon asked, sending his friend a repressive glance.

"Well, two weeks after I met Rathbone, I learnt I was to return to Japan. I was desperate and sorrowful, and Nelson picked up on it. He enquired what was wrong, I told him, he asked me to marry him, but my father refused the match. He had us on a ship back to Tokyo the next morning. After that, I did not see or hear from Rathbone for ten years. Before my father died, he told me Rathbone was plotting against the Queen, as he had told me once before. He made me promise to thwart him, and I have tried to keep that promise. I am many things, but I am no traitor. I will never give into Rathbone," she vowed quietly, yet she felt her soul cry out in protest. But she would win the war of her emotion.

"Do you still love him?" Chon asked. Belinda's breath caught in her throat at the question. She didn't, did she?

"I don't know," she murmured, so quietly it was the merest whisper upon the wind. "But I have my duty to see to first. Believe me,"

Roy and Chon nodded once, as Belinda looked Lin in the eye. After a moment, Lin inclined her head once, her hostile expression easing slightly.

"We believe you," Chon said simply, as Roy nodded.

"Love is a fickle thing," he muttered.

"Actually its fate is a fickle thing," Belinda corrected him patiently, smirking. He rolled his eyes before turning to Lin.

"Why'd you run away anyway? Like we said, there's a serial killer on the loose!" he muttered angrily. Lin rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in the air impatiently.

"Forget it!"

A sudden ripple of colour in the moonlight out of the corner of her eye had Belinda swirling.

"Wait!"


	9. Face To Face With The Devil

Chapter 9: Face To Face With The Devil

Two Boxers stood before them at the opposite end of the bridge, and as the foursome spun around, three more blocked the only route of escape.

"Who the hell are these guys?" Roy asked incredulously, as Belinda shrugged her cloak off, drawing her sword.

"Boxers," Chon, Lin and Belinda said as one. Roy jumped, eying them dubiously.

"What are you, parrots? What do they want with us?" he asked, a slight edge of panic leaking into his Southern accent.

"They're with me," a familiar voice drawled behind him, as Belinda spun, her eyes falling on Lord Rathbone. Her heart and body ached at the sight of him

He stood, dressed in a dark coat, ruby-red waistcoat and his Derringer in hand; at his side, a pleased smirk on his thin lips.

Belinda pushed her way between Roy and Chon, standing in front of them, placing her sword in readiness.

"Don't be foolish, Belinda. We have five men, not including myself, and you have only four," Rathbone said, raising his pistol. "Throw down your weapon!"

His pistol was pointed at Lin's heart. Knowing she couldn't take the risk and call his bluff, she dropped her sword. Haughtily, Rathbone lowered his pistol and stepped forward.

"I think we need to have a little chat."

* * *

Belinda, Roy, Chon and Lin were all blindfolded and bound, dragged into a covered wagon. She lay in total darkness, the wagon jolting over potholes in the cobbled roads. With nothing to do, her hands too tightly bound to wriggle free, she mentally counted the number of potholes they drove over to keep away the panic of sensory deprivation.

She got to two hundred before the wagon ground to a halt, and they were dragged out.

"Where are we? Where are you taking us?" Chon asked incessantly, whilst Roy whined.

"Hey not so rough! No need to push us around, we're going, we're going!" he complained, as they were shoved through a door. Belinda felt the change from the chill of the late night into a clammier cool, and she heard the gurgle of water nearby.

Sensing her chance when her leg bonds were cut, she struggled and wrenched herself free, kicking out.

A second later her arms were pinioned by someone else's, and hot breath brushed her neck.

"Don't bother, Belinda. You're not getting away now," Rathbone murmured into her ear, as she stopped struggling, shivers racking her spine.

Jeering laughter broke out as she was pushed away into someone else's arms, and dragged away. A moment later her blindfold was lifted and she blinked in the golden light.

They stood in a dilapidated dock warehouse, a barge floating in its berth, covered by tarpaulin. Overhead a hoist hung down from the ceiling. Roy and Chon were forced to their knees, before their blindfolds were taken away, but Lin's arms were strapped to the hoist, whilst ropes bound her ankles.

Rathbone and Wu Chow stood before the bound men, surrounded by their Boxers armed with long scimitars.

Belinda's eyes met Rathbone's, and looked away, as shivers rippled down her spine. An intrigued smirk dawned on his face, as he maintained his gaze on her body, noticing the flush of her skin. His grin turned predatorial as he turned back to his prey.

Wu Chow stepped forward, a cruel smile on his face.

"Chon Wang…the man who defied an Emperor," he said, walking around the bound man.

"The Emperor should never have spared your life!" Chon muttered defiantly, resolutely holding Wu Chow's gaze.

"I see. You're still my brother's lapdog," Wu Chow returned scornfully.

"I'm here not for him. I'm here for my father," Chon raised his chin proudly.

"Of course you are," Wu Chow replied, walking back to stand beside Rathbone. Frowning, Belinda watched the two men closely, seeing the tension between them. They didn't like one another that she could sense.

Cruelty shone unleashed in Wu Chow's eyes, as he leant forward eagerly.

"It was my dagger that plunged into his heart. It's still crusted with his blood!" he remarked coldly, an amused smile breaking over his face as Chon lunged at him with a cry of rage.

The Boxers restrained him, as Belinda fought against her captor's hold. Her struggles diverted Wu Chow's attention from Chon, as he looked at her with speculative eyes.

"So this is your 'old acquaintance', Rathbone," he murmured, walking up close and stroking a gloved hand down her jaw. Rathbone stiffened and moved, but Belinda was quicker. She headbutted him viciously, before slipping her arms from her guards' hands and flipping around in a kick that hit both her guards and Wu Chow. Her liberty didn't last long.

Two more Boxers subdued her, gripping her arms behind her back violently, as Wu Chow rose from the floor, brushing the dust off his sleeves, his face cold and blank. Belinda glimpsed a fleeting expression of amusement rush over Rathbone's face, before it blanked out.

"I did warn you she was a slippery one, Wu Chow," he called over tauntingly, as anger flared on Wu Chow's face.

"Impudent dog!" Wu Chow raised his hand, but Belinda didn't flinch. He stopped his blow at the last minute, as he watched her eyes intently. A moment later he smirked, and stepped away. "Impressive. I admire your taste, Rathbone."

Inclining his head, Rathbone sighed impatiently however.

"If we can return to business?" he asked rhetorically, before he turned back to Roy and Chon. "I know the boy has the Seal. Where is he?"

"We don't know! That's the truth, we don't know!" Roy protested vehemently, at the look of disbelief in Rathbone's sneering face. The nobleman cocked his head, scrutinising the American closely.

Was he lying?

Smirking slightly, his gaze met Belinda's just once, before he gestured to the Boxers waiting by the hoist control.

Lin was lifted off the floor by her arms, whilst the restraints around her ankles ensured she was stretched painfully. The gag muffled her cries of pain, as Roy struggled against his ropes.

"What are you-? What are you doing? Stop! Put her down! Put her down! Put her down now!" Roy yelled whilst Chon howled with rage. Stunned, Belinda too fought her restraints.

"Let her down, Nelson. We don't know where the Seal is!" she shouted desperately, her eyes on the stretched Chinese girl as she grimaced in pain. She dropped her eyes to Rathbone's once more, begging with him. Pleading, telling him she would do anything for him if he would just let Lin go.

Rathbone looked Belinda in the eyes, becoming lost in the pure entreaty in them, as her emerald orbs gleamed with tears. She was breathtakingly beautiful when she was emotional.

"Put her down now!" Roy's enraged shout had his attention snapping back to the impudent American, as anger filled him. He would take great delight in subduing the colonials once more and succeeding where Victoria had failed. He would resurrect their ailing Empire, and restore it to the glory of old.

"Or what, Mr O'Bannon? Are you gonna kick my ass?" he asked derisively, slipping into a mock American accent. "I've read all about your ridiculous exploits. I mean, just…how does it feel to kill a mummy with your bare hands?"

Roy's face turned blank, as confusion dawned, and Rathbone continued his vicious tirade.

"Only a nation of uneducated rednecks would be amused by such cowboy drivel,"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy! What's with all the personal attacks?" Roy asked indignantly, staring at Rathbone derisively. Belinda watched him, eyes narrowed.

"You don't see me making comments about your pasty complexion, or your snotty accent," Roy continued, as Rathbone's smile only grew. "Or your filthy, smutty sex books!"

That stopped Rathbone's smirk, turning it to confusion as Belinda stared at Roy, and then at Rathbone disbelievingly.

"Yeah, I saw your book. It disgusted me-" Roy's indignant tirade was cut off abruptly, as Wu Chow struck him on the side of his head with his cane. "ARGHH! Why is it always the head with you people?"

At that, the Boxers turned the screw once more, as Lin screamed.

Roy's voice turned desperate, as Chon and Belinda both fought to get free.

"Hold it! Stop! Hold it! Just hold it! What are we doing here? Guys, look at this. We're acting like animals... over what? Some seal?" Roy asked, his eyes lingering on Lin's stretched form, face contorted in pain.

Belinda rolled her eyes at Roy's ignorance, at the same time as Rathbone, Chon and Wu Chow. Even Lin looked nonplussed.

"The Seal represents Imperial power. I will use to unite the Emperor's enemies and march on the Forbidden City," Wu Chow told him coolly, looking down on the uninformed American.

Roy looked pointedly at Rathbone, standing unusually silent at Wu Chow's side.

"What's in it for you?"

Rathbone smiled slowly and confidently, as one brow arched. His gaze touched Belinda's, as she realised she was about to learn Rathbone's plans at last.

"You're looking at the future King of England," Rathbone said simply, his smile deepening at the look of shock in Belinda's eyes. Roy scoffed.

"You're like twentieth in line to the throne!" the American pointed out doggedly. Belinda rolled her eyes again, as Rathbone frowned irritably.

"Tenth. Actually, the twentieth in line to the throne is standing over there," he nodded at Belinda who scowled at him warningly. Roy and Chon's surprised looks were more than enough to add fuel to the fire steadily growing in her heart towards Rathbone. She was going to throttle him!

"Thank you for that, Nelson," she growled, fighting her bonds. "Just had to bring it up, didn't you?"

"Of course, my dear," Rathbone sent her a wink and a winning smile, as Wu Chow smiled amusedly.

"It is only right that Rathbone should have a Queen of royal blood, no matter how distant," he said quietly, as Belinda's eyes widened.

"WHAT!?" she shrieked, just Roy and Chon spoke.

"You're related to him!?" they asked her amazedly. She sighed patiently, wanting to roll her eyes.

"Very distantly," she muttered. Chon shook his head, but a licentious smirk crept over Roy's face, mixed with disgust.

"Incest. I kinda find it kinky," he muttered, as Chon sent him a disgusted look. Belinda dug deep for her last shreds of patience, switching her focus to Rathbone.

"How do you plan to take the throne? You're only tenth in line, Rathbone," she asked, sending Roy a repressive look. Chon elbowed his friend pointedly.

"OW!"

"My friend is about to change all that," Rathbone told them, inclining his head at Wu Chow. "By simple process of elimination,"

The blood drained from Belinda's face.

Rathbone clicked his fingers, as a Boxer on one of the barges pulled the tarpaulin cover from some bulky object to reveal…

"It's called a machine gun," Rathbone explained proudly, at Roy and Chon's puzzled looks. "The first of its kind, it fires 200 rounds a minute. A testament to British ingenuity!"

"That's pure evil!" Belinda lunged forward, writhing against her captors' hold, squirming as fiercely as a snake. "Your own flesh and blood, Nelson!"

Rathbone smiled coldly, as he left his place by Wu Chow to stand in front of Belinda.

"One must be ruthless, Belinda, to attain power for the greater good. I was destined to be King. Now I just need to rid myself of the competition. Survival of the fittest," he said quietly, leaning in close. Belinda reared back as far as her guards allowed her, disgusted that she still desired him even after all she'd learned. Satisfaction glinted in his dark eyes as the evident contrasting revulsion and lust she felt. It had to be showing in her eyes.

"Oh, so you steal the Seal, and you knock off nine royals?" Roy asked, momentarily diverting Rathbone and Belinda's attention from each other. He whistled and looked sympathetically at Wu Chow. "You got the short end of that stick, my friend."

"Dump them in the river!" Wu Chow barked, turning away from the two men, and signalling to the Boxers. The two holding Belinda released her into Rathbone's arms, as he took her possessively against him. She glared at him, before her gaze went to Lin.

The Chinese woman was cut down from the hoist, barely conscious, and slung over a Boxer's shoulder.

"Where are you taking her?" Chon asked fearfully.

"To make history," Rathbone relied, sliding one arm around Belinda's waist. He flung out one hand. "I can already see the headlines: Nation mourns as Looney Lin massacres royal family."

Horror filled Chon's eyes as he was hauled upright and dragged to the hoist. Roy was next.

"And Belinda?" he asked, as he was forced to sit down, and his feet were bound to the hoist. "What about her?"

Belinda was particularly interested to hear the answer to that one.

"You're looking at the future Queen of England," Rathbone replied calmly, as both Roy and Belinda started. She stared at her former fiancé incredulously, before her jaw tilted defiantly.

"Never," she growled coldly. The man holding her too close for comfort leaned in and whispered against her ear, as her breathing hitched.

"I gave you a chance to take your place by my side willingly, my Belinda, but you refused to accept destiny. Now you have no choice," he murmured darkly, sending unholy shudders down her spine.

"I will never stop fighting you!" she said warningly, narrowing her eyes at his arrogance. Instead of perturbing him, he smiled superciliously.  
"I'm confident you will soon see things my way, my darling," he continued, forcing her to walk out of the warehouse. Belinda craned her head around to glimpse one last sight of Roy and Chon, before they rounded a corner.

* * *

Outside, Lin was loaded into one carriage, whilst another waited beside it. Wu Chow paused outside, as Rathbone and Belinda stopped by him.

Wu Chow turned to them with a troubled look in his foreign eyes.

"I need assurance that you will find the Seal," he began, before Rathbone cut him off impatiently.

"Don't concern yourself. My men are scouring the city," he said shortly, his arm still twined with Belinda's waist. Surrounded by Boxers, she had no chance of escape, and she went along with it for the time being, she hoped there would be a chance of escape later on, or at least for warning the Queen. Maybe Orchid could slip away with that package, and get it to the Foreign Secretary. But what if Rathbone had the man in his pocket?

That was a risk she'd have to take.

"You'd better pray they find it, or our agreement is over and you will never get the crown!" Wu Chow threatened, before he stalked off angrily. He got into the carriage Lin was imprisoned in, and it drove off.

Belinda stole a glimpse at Rathbone's face, and saw the implacable planes of aristocratic indifference slip into a mask of calculating dislike.

Looking after Wu Chow's carriage, Belinda's eyes narrowed.

"You're not going to let him take the throne of China, are you?" she asked him quietly, as their carriage drove up. Rathbone silently opened the door and beckoned her inside. Belinda glared at him, before managing to get inside, her hands still bound.

Rathbone got in, and the carriage rolled off.

They drove in silence over the cobbled roads, away from Whitechapel and towards the fashionable areas. Belinda wriggled her wrists, the rope chaffing the soft skin.

The movement caught Rathbone's attention.

"Forgive me my dear, but I won't take the risk of releasing you until we are in surrounds better suited to our discussion," Rathbone told her, almost apologetically, but there was an anticipatory smile on his lips. Belinda's eyes narrowed.

"What discussion?" she asked archly, one brow rising superciliously.

"Why, the discussion of our marriage, Belinda. I told you, you had your chance to take your rightful place by my side, but now, I shall use other means if necessary," he said, suddenly shifting so he sat beside her, leaning over her. She shuddered and moved back, squashed against the side of the carriage, trapped.

"You can try to seduce me all you want, Nelson, but it won't work. I will never help you murder Victoria!" she snarled defiantly, even as she unconsciously arched towards him, their lips inches from each other. Rathbone grinned slowly, a purely sensual smile that screamed his intent.

"Considering your…desperate state in your ballroom this afternoon, I doubt I'll need to 'try' very hard, my love," he murmured, before brushing his lips across hers.

Belinda shuddered, as he drew her to him, his lips firming on hers, ruthlessly drawing her into the kiss, no matter how much her mind was screaming the opposite right now. Their lips melded and locked…

The carriage rocked to a halt, and Rathbone raised his head.

"We're home, dear," he told her with a lethally seductive smirk. Belinda felt her heart sink as she looked out on Rathbone House.


	10. Forced Into Love

Chapter 10: Forced Into Love

As soon as Rathbone led Belinda through the arched doors of his sumptuous London home, a figure in blue silk rushed into her arms.

Orchid.

"My lady!" she cried, enveloping Belinda in her arms. Shocked, Belinda limply stood in her grasp, before her brain caught up with her.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked the fiend standing beside her. He smiled coolly.

"My other means, Belinda. You see, a little birdie came running to me…" Rathbone began, clasping his hands behind his back, as he circled the pair menacingly. "…with a very interesting tale. And a little present,"

He held up the package Belinda had given Orchid, his smile growing at the nonplussed look on her face. She looked at her confidant dumbfounded, betrayal sparking in her eyes. The Japanese woman shook her head frantically, dishevelled hair flying, eyes wide and pleading.

"Oh, not her. Not your precious Orchid, but one of my men. You really should be more careful when planning to evade an enemy. You never know who may be watching," Rathbone explained, stepping close to Belinda so he spoke into her ear. At a snap of his fingers, Orchid was dragged away from her, and into another room.

"Where are you taking her? If any harm comes to her, I swear-" Belinda started, struggling as Rathbone's arms came around her own, but his voice, dangerous and silky in her ear stopped her.

"You'll do nothing. See it like this, my darling. She'll be the leverage I need to ensure your silence…and your agreement to our wedding," he told her, pressing her back against him. Belinda stared at him over her shoulder.

"I…" she trailed off at the triumphant look in his dark eyes.

"Let me explain myself further. If you remain quiet, see through the Jubilee celebrations and our wedding without incident, then Orchid will not be harmed. Do otherwise, and I'm afraid poor Orchid will be having a very unfortunate accident," he told her, with an evil, unholy smile. A cold shiver rippled through Belinda as she stared at the monster holding her captive.

"You're despicable," she murmured defiantly. He inclined his head.

"That as may be, but you will not defy me over this. Not if you wish your precious _innocent_ little friend to remain alive," Rathbone replied cordially, as he led her forward.

Belinda wanted to kill him.

He knew exactly how to ferret out her weaknesses, her code of honour. Orchid was the innocent party, and he knew as well as she did, that she would not put her at risk.

She wasn't ruthless or strong enough to say no, and kill Orchid, to save her Queen.

"You bastard," she snarled under her breath, as his arm pressured her to move up the imposing central staircase. "And I can walk myself, thank you very much!"

"As you wish," Rathbone replied, but still didn't release her waist from his grip.

"You know I could flip you onto your back if you don't remove your arm, _kind sir_!" she muttered sarcastically. At that Rathbone chuckled and pulled her back into his arms, his hot breath puffing gently on the skin of her throat.

"There'll be plenty of time for _that_ in a moment, Belinda," he purred, as Belinda shivered and sank against him unconsciously. With an amused chuckle, he released her and they walked on.

The corridors of Rathbone House were as luxurious as his country estate, but less traditional. She could have been walking through the corridors of an Eastern palace, with the delicate silk hangings and the arcane artefacts displayed on pedestals at intervals along their route. Crimson red Persian carpets lined the polished wooden floors, reflecting a patina of rich colours, from the candelabras placed on the walls. At last they reached the end of the long hallway, stopping before a pair of carved double doors, as Rathbone juggled her and opened the door. Imperiously, her nerves on edge, Belinda swept inside.

And stopped dead.

* * *

She stood in a large, luxuriously appointed room, rectangular in shape, and cavernous in size. A fire popped in a marble hearth not far from the door, around which was stood a comfortable old armchair with carved mahogany wings. Scarlet Persian rugs covered the cold floor, and paintings covered the warm oak panelling of the walls. At the very end of the room, between two bay windows, sat a bed, a monstrous four-poster, covered in emerald green damask and crisp white cotton sheets. A door beside the far left of the bay windows led off somewhere else, presumably to Rathbone's dressing room, whilst another on the opposite side led somewhere else.

At the sight of the bed, Belinda halted abruptly, her eyes wide. Rathbone's arm collided with the small of her back, pushing her forward. Reluctantly she moved deeper into the room, as her senses picked up the scrape of the key in the lock.

Her breath coming short, Belinda moved, her hands gliding over the covers of the bed, and the carved columns of the frame, in a trance-like state.

She swung around, meeting the eyes of her would-be husband, as Rathbone stalked close to her. From a table, he picked up a slender letter opener, sharp and delicate. Belinda's eyes widening, she backed away slightly before the impatience snort he gave stopped her.

"Belinda, as if I would, after all we've been through," he said scornfully, taking hold of her still bound wrists and yanking her forward. Her eyes on the letter opener, she waited with bated breath for him to take his eyes off hers. The ropes confining her snapped free, and she moved.

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, snapping it back so with a muffled curse, he dropped the letter opener. Rathbone snarled again as Belinda snatched up the knife in midair and swung her arm to his throat. Before the cold metal could touch his skin, he blocked her hand with his wrist and yanked her close, pulling the knife away and to safety. Neither took any notice of the sound of metal impacting against wood as the knife flew across the room and hit the door.

"I expected some paltry gesture of resistance, Belinda," Rathbone breathed menacingly, his lips inches from hers. Belinda inhaled sharply at the feel of him so close to her, his dark eyes gleaming with lust and power, compounding her own vulnerability. A feeling she remembered from her adolescent love for him. Her own body betraying her, his next words were a dim sound in her ears. "…But this truly is foolish. Trying to kill your host and the man you love? Tsk, tsk!"

"I do not lo-" she tried to protest, but the words began to stick in her throat even without Rathbone's growled warning.

"_**Don't**_…even try to deny this, Belinda," he snarled, releasing her wrist roughly. Belinda turned her back defiantly, unable to look at him any longer lest her emotions get the better of her.

"The man holds me against my will and is planning to murder my Queen, and he wonders why I want to kill him? How typical!" she muttered sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she struggled to resist the promise of sensuous heat standing not two feet from her. His next words eroded her resistance further, sending seductive shivers down her spine.

"After tonight, I can guarantee you won't have a single murderous thought in that devious head of yours. I can guarantee you won't be trying that again," he whispered, his voice transmuting from hard steel to warm honey, husky and persuasive.

The ultimate tempter.

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked, clearing her throat. To her alarm, she didn't hear him step close, didn't feel his fingers on the laces of her corset until too late. With one arm around her waist trapping her, he used two fingers to work at the knots of her laces.

"I have a suggestion," he murmured in her ear, moving her hair aside tenderly. "Care to hear it?"

Belinda shivered and sank against him unconsciously. Her neck arched back against his shoulder, bringing her head close to his, as he continued to unlace her corset.

"I think it's time we set about the conception of the future King of England," he whispered seductively in her ear, as her corset came loose, and he stripped it away, leaving Belinda in her shirt, trousers and boots. His long-fingered hands slid around her waist, pulling her back hard against him, as his lips ran down the length of her neck. Shuddering, his captive fought to regain enough strength to fight him off, her morality yelling at above normal levels of sound.

The rest of her wasn't listening.

Belinda had forgotten that he wanted to kill Victoria, that he would frame an innocent girl for the crime, and that most likely her partners, Roy and Chon were dead. She'd forgotten that he was exactly as her father had painted him: cold, cruel and ruthless.

His hands and lips were pure heaven, as they explored, and a very unladylike sound escaped Belinda's aching lips. Rathbone's hands slid beneath her shirt, caressing her bare skin, as she sucked in a breath, opening her eyes to stare blindly at the ceiling.

The warmth of the flickering fire and his body was enough to send her head spinning, as she leaned into his arms. His lips tenderly pressed against her cheek, before her head turned so their lips touched.

Brushed, melded, locked…

Passionate urgency filled the pair, as Belinda slid around in his arms, pulling him close. He'd stripped away his coat and cravat, leaving him in his white shirt and burgundy waistcoat. Sliding her hands over the screened planes of his body, she drank in his groan of pleasure, before letting him claim her mouth voraciously, hauling her body hard against his. As if that would appease the ache blossoming in both their bodies.

Ten years of yearning and need swept over them, leaving them breathless and dizzy in its wake, even as they clung to one another. Frantic, desperate, Rathbone's hands tore her clothes as he divested her of them, feeling no maidenly fluster at being undressed by an unmarried man.

She'd never been very conventional anyway.

Their tongues duelled and entwined, as their passion reached new heights. Linen tore as Belinda's hands ripped his shirt from him, pushing it impatiently down his arms, trapping them, as she wrenched from his mouth to kiss her way down his chest, nuzzling down the line of hair that trailed below the waistband of his trousers. Shrugging his powerful shoulders, so the ruined shirt and waistcoat fell to the floor, he reached for her.

Shirtless, the pair toppled back onto his bed, frantically kissing and caressing each other, making up for a decade of lost time, their minds free from thought beyond that of loving one another.

Belinda's hands drifted down the muscular line of Rathbone's back, feeling the shift and ripple of hard muscle bands beneath her palms as they tensed at her touch, discrepancies in the smooth skin telling her when she traced some old scar, its source long forgotten and long-buried.

Rathbone raised his head, dark eyes glittering with lust and fascination as he looked down on the prize he'd won.

Her long hair spread over the pillows of his bed, warm and imbued with her unique spicy scent, rising with the heat of their bodies and the flickering fire nearby.

The long, graceful limbs that clasped him close, trapping him against her goddess's body.

Her silky soft skin, so sumptuous and heated, it was driving him insane.

Those eyes, like iridescent emeralds filled with fire, that held his gaze, the lust and need in their depths a mirror image of his own, coupled with the pride and the wildness he loved about her.

His Belinda.

His.

On the thought he kissed her ravenously, tilting her head back against the pillows, as he slid into her body and claimed it, branding it his own. She inhaled sharply at his invasion, before exhaling on a shudder, as her body softened beneath his. Closing her eyes, Belinda pulled his lips to hers, her hands clasping his shoulders and back urgently, stopping him from leaving their skin-on-skin contact when he tried to rise over her. He drank in her cries as they moved together, uncertain novice that she was, a natural in this sphere.

A woman made for him, as he was for her. At first he was gentle and patient with her, before he lost control and they lost their minds in want and need. As one they shattered, crying out in ecstasy.

Rathbone's lips tiredly brushed hers, whispering three words before they collapsed into oblivion.

_I love you_

* * *

"Why can't you admit you love me still?" his seductive voice in her ear awakened Belinda from her sated stupor. She stirred, lifting her head from the pillows of his bed to meet his eyes. At the unfeigned puzzlement in his, she looked away, afraid her own turmoil would show.

As she tried to move, Rathbone's arms clasped her closer to him, pressing her against his naked body, sunk in his bed after their passionate lovemaking.

"No," he nuzzled her ear, brushing his lips over her lobe. She shivered, her lids falling. "Just let me hold you."

Capitulating, she relaxed into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, one hand splayed over the space where his heart beat. For a moment, she could just let him love her, and to love him back.

Just for a moment.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear, making Belinda freeze in his arms. Catching her breath, a vice constricting her lungs, she sat up, pushing away his arms.

"Please don't say that," she murmured pleadingly, holding the bed sheet to her torso. Frowning, Rathbone sat up also and tried to draw her into his arms, but Belinda stiffened and refused to let him. He settled for planting a hungry kiss over her shoulder, nudging aside the curtain of her hair. She shivered but didn't relinquish her tension.

"Why not, when it is nothing but the truth?" Rathbone asked gently, exasperatedly. Her breathing accelerating rapidly, Belinda grasped the sheet even tighter and slid from the bed. Wrapping it around herself firmly, she marched to the window and leant her warm forehead on the cool glass.

Outside it was deep night, in summer.

Inside, Belinda shivered in the stifling atmosphere as her apparent fiancé's words sank in. She closed her eyes to block out the sight of him, in all his glory, lying naked on the bed, not even bothering to cover himself up with the coverlet.

His words rang too true, for Belinda. The truth was that she hadn't stopped loving him since the day she had told him so, in the mews outside her London home, ten years ago. Not even when she had confirmed all her father had tried to make her see about him.

With a sigh, Rathbone sat up and left the bed, padding barefooted across the floor to Belinda, pressing as close as he could without touching her, so the heat of his body burned through the thin sheet covering her body.

"Belinda," he breathed, urging her to turn around with his eyes. She shivered but didn't face him. "Why must you be so difficult?!" he muttered through gritted teeth impatiently.

"Why did you have to turn out to be a traitor? Nelson, you're betraying everything I've ever believed in; how can you expect me to just…accept it?" she muttered. Rathbone exhaled against her hair, sliding his arms around her waist. She gasped as he pressed her back against him.

"Let me go," she demanded quietly.

"No," Rathbone shook his head, turning her around so she faced him. He backed her against the window, the cool glass pressing into her back, the window ledge into her legs. "I will never let you go. Do you remember those words I spoke to you, the night you poured out your heart to me, ten long years ago?"

Belinda stayed silent, her eyes blankly fixed on his. Of course she remembered. She could never forget.

"Well, I do, Belinda," Rathbone continued fiercely, his teeth bared in a bestial snarl. "You begged me to never let you go, and I vowed I would not. That is a vow I intend to keep, no matter what happens."

His lips crushed hers before she could reply, taking advantage of her already open lips to ruthlessly smother her resistance with passion. Helpless, Belinda returned his passion, sliding her hands into his hair as her body came alive once more at the feel of his hand brushing away the bed sheet and sliding up her thigh. He relentlessly claimed her mouth over and over again, holding her against the window. The chill glass sent shivers down her spine, contrasting against the insidious heat rising under her skin.

Giving into her body's need, she pulled him closer, as he pushed her back to perch on the window ledge, her legs splayed and her body open to his.

Knowing what was coming next; Belinda tried to put off the inevitable. With each time he took her, he only bound her to him ever more securely. She couldn't allow that to happen.

She wrenched her lips from his, and turned her head to the side, but that didn't deter Rathbone in the slightest, as he just proceeded to lave her neck in hot caresses.

"This isn't right, we're not even married," she breathed, knowing it was ridiculous even as the words left her aching lips. She could feel his amused chuckle against her sensitive skin.

"That wasn't what you were thinking earlier, when you were screaming my name. And I'll make you scream my name again, and again, my love," he murmured, leaning into her slightly. Belinda's breath hitched as he thrust into her body again, filling her so completely. Shuddering, exhaling shakily, she gave in and pulled his lips back to hers; clinging to him as he continued to claim her body, driving her into insanity with want and desire.

Her hands splayed over his back, and she watched in a mirror hanging directly opposite them on the wall over his shoulder, taking in every tensing and relaxing of his sleek muscles as he undulated into her body, her own limbs curled around his. With the sight came awareness of what he was doing to her, as she felt her body give in fully to his pleasure, and her dazed eyes met his dark ones. They searched her for a second before he kissed her again, refocusing her attention on their duelling tongues.

An interminable time later, Belinda did cry his name in ecstasy as she broke from his lips and collapsed into his arms. With a shudder and reciprocal cry he followed her into satiation, as she felt warmth fill her. His arms came around her supportively, holding her as he picked her up and carried her to the bed, where they lay together, soothing one another with gentle kisses and caresses, before they succumbed to sleep.

The last words Belinda heard before her mind spiralled into darkness were these.

"I'll never let you go, my love,"

As she clung to his arm, she couldn't help but think the same.

* * *

**Thank you diggydawg for reviewing. Until I got your review I was on the verge of giving up on this story, so thank you. I love you, in a non-creepy way, and if you know anymore Rathbone fans, tell them about this story.**

**And I have to agree with you, Rathbone is hot!!!!**


	11. A Losing Battle

Chapter 11: A Losing Battle

Belinda was aware of a growing frustration as her incarceration in Rathbone House dragged on. It almost seemed she was Nelson's prisoner for a lot longer than three days. The Jubilee Celebrations were that night.

Nelson had barely let her out of his sight for the entire three days, and she rarely left his side. Or his arms.

She shared his bed every night, and every night and morning he merely tightened the vise he held around her heart. Despite the fact he was planning to assassinate the Royal Family, and held her friend captive; _**and**_ had possibly murdered her co-conspirators, she couldn't help but love him back in those erotically charged, forbidden moments, sunk in the darkness of his bed. He'd shown her an entire world she had never known existed.

But in the harsh light of day……

Belinda was racked by betrayal and anguish, helplessness and a fierce desire to shove something down Nelson's throat. A fierceness that only seemed to stoke her putative fiancé's passion for her even higher, overwhelming her resistance.

That day, Belinda had awoken to Nelson's anticipatory kiss on her lips, pressing her into the bed. It was only when she had seen his dark, predatory smirk after they had finally arisen in the late morning, that she remembered what day it was.

Jubilee Day.

And there was nothing Belinda could do to stop it. She was powerless, every avenue of attack covered by Nelson and Wu Chow.

Depressed, Belinda stepped into the cavernous library of Rathbone House. Gowned in cerulean blue, she shone like a polished sapphire as she glided through the aisles of books. Nelson had had her gowns brought over from her house, where her household remained under guard, but unfortunately none of her weapons or her fighting gear. Not that Belinda was surprised, but a part of her had hoped one of her maids might have been able to slip something in. She didn't even have her hairpin knives, so her long hair was permanently left cascading down her back.

Frustratedly, Belinda brushed aside one of her long trailing locks as she wandered down the regimented alleyways of books and polished oak. Her mind drifted away from Nelson's plans and her incarceration to another, equally troubling plight.

She'd missed her monthly indisposition, that all women suffered, in Belinda's case from the age of thirteen; and so far it was two days late. She knew it could just be a fluke, that it might be late as some women she'd heard talk about, but the truth was she had never been late a day in her life before.

Was she with child?

Belinda knew Nelson wanted her with child, he'd said as much the first night they spent together, but what did she feel?

How did she feel about the prospect of carrying Nelson's child, possibly his heir?

How would HE react?

All unanswerable question she had no intention of answering for now.

Bloody arrogant arsehole!

Belinda swore in her mind, using one of Roy's choice swear words. Her anger was only heightened by the sound of footsteps behind her. Footsteps she recognised.

"Belinda?" Rathbone called, his voice echoing in the library. She pressed herself back into one of the bookshelves, thanking Heaven for the long shadows the afternoon sun cast over the room. She heard his boots come closer, even as she slid away into another aisle.

Slipping around the side, she ended up behind Rathbone as he paused in an open space, where several armchairs were amassed before the marble hearth. Silently, she reached up and pulled down one of the heaviest tomes.

Really, she didn't know why she did it.

Belinda stepped into the light, raising her arms above her head-

Rathbone heard the s_wish_ of her skirts and spun, faster than the panther he so close resembled, and caught her arms at the elbow. Wrestling the book from her, he shoved her to the floor, pinning her wrists against the Persian carpet.

Belinda looked up into eyes that were filled with flickering hunger, for _her_.

You would think a man would tire of a woman who was constantly trying to kill him.

Her sleeve had slipped down one shoulder during the struggle, the gown's square neckline exposing the ragged rise and fall of her breasts, as she inhaled erratically, glaring up at him.

He was clothed in a white shirt, crimson waistcoat and a black cravat, looking like temptation incarnate as he leant over her. The warmth of the fire bathed them, its golden glow washing over their pale skins.

Rathbone looked down on his fiery fiancée, taking in her beauty. She was exceedingly comely when angry and frustrated as she was now, her cheeks flushed a gentle rose; a blush he knew from experience would spread all over her body when flushed with passion, and her eyes spitting sparks that could have come from the fire beside them. Her long, luscious locks were spread over the marble hearth, and he had to fight the temptation to bury his hands in their silken warmth.

Abruptly, Belinda wriggled, fighting his hold, trying to get her knees up, but he trapped her long legs outside of his, and merely slammed her back down. She winced, her back aching as he arched an eyebrow superciliously.

"Really, Belinda, I thought we'd quashed these homicidal urges you've been having?" he murmured teasingly, his eyes darting down to her red lips.

After the day he'd had, he was prepared to be magnanimous rather than punishing her for her, now what was it? Fifth attempt on his life?

His Boxer spies had found and begun to track O'Bannon and Wang, knowing they would lead them to the boy. And to the Seal.

All to the good. The Jubilee was tonight.

It wouldn't be long, and his future…their future would be assured.

At the thought he looked back down at his future Queen, and smiled.

Belinda knew she didn't like that arrogant smirk, but couldn't do a thing about it, as she once again tried to fight his hold. But his weight, achingly familiar now, crushed her to the floor and he just slammed her back down again.

Her back was really beginning to hurt now, her still healing rib complaining. Painfully.

"Frustrated much, Belinda?" he asked, that aggravating eyebrow still cocked teasingly.

"So would you be if you'd been stuck in a house for three days!" she retorted pointedly, before finally giving up and settling beneath him, her body instinctively softening to accommodate his. Rathbone shuddered, his eyes darkening as her breath hitched at the tensing of his body. Knowing there was no danger now, he released her wrists to rest them either side of her shoulders. Freed, hers instinctively rested on his lapels, her lips parting invitingly.

She had no idea what she did to him, he thought to himself, this instinctive passion she possessed that allowed no restrictive behaviours, no social qualms or maidenly precepts to hold her back in his bed. For that he could only be thankful.

His eyes ran over her exposed shoulder, taking in the creamy skin lit by the amber flames nearby and couldn't resist bending his head and pressing his lips to the hollow where her shoulder met the join of her neck. He heard a muted moan, and he smirked before raising his head and brushing her lips with his.

"Why are you still fighting me, Belinda?" he whispered against her mouth, before kissing her tenderly. He raised his head and stared down at his fiancée, loving the blush that pervaded her ivory skin, as she stared up at him dazedly.

"Because I must," she murmured, so quietly he could barely hear her words, but to him they sounded like a refrain, one she'd been repeating for the past few days, to strengthen her resolve.

"Not for much longer," he replied, before very, very carefully just brushing her lips with his, making her yearn, making her stretch upward to follow his mouth before smirking devilishly. "You see, Belinda? No matter how much you fight me, I will win in the end."

And with that, Rathbone stood up, releasing Belinda from his grip. She slowly sat back up, carefully pulling her sleeve over her shoulder, before raising cold eyes to his. He met them blandly, knowing her charade for what it was, before bowing courteously, offering her his hand. She considered it haughtily, and he knew she was debating whether or not to flip him onto his back.

But to his slight surprise, she did not.

"You should prepare yourself. The celebration will start in a few hours, my dear," he told her, pulling her gently to her feet before kissing her hand and leaving her once again in the quiet stillness of the library.

Belinda watched him go, felt her heart constrict in pain as she remembered his words.

"_No matter how much you fight me, I will win in the end."_

Those words echoed in her mind, as she turned and began to navigate her way out of the room, through the winding aisles of books.

Why did she feel like she was fighting a losing battle?

Because Nelson was right.

She had already lost, the moment she stepped foot in that ballroom at Buckingham Palace ten years ago.


	12. One Last Time

Chapter 12: One Last Time

**So sorry for the really long time since I updated. Real life is just so…meh, who cares?**

**I'm back now, and this story is drawing to a close, I think I've only got four more chapters to go? Including this one.**

**Thanks to Maddie Rose for helping me decide my ending.**

* * *

Belinda luxuriated in the feel of the warm water against her skin for a moment, before her mind quickly got back to the business of saving Victoria.

She had just left Nelson in the library.

The Jubilee was only hours away.

She had to find a way of warning Victoria. Decisively, Belinda quickly finished her bath and rose from the tub, slipping into a robe while she dried her hair. It soon hung in shimmering folds around her shoulders, and she moved into the dressing room Rathbone had allowed her.

And spotted his mistake.

On the desk, previously hidden by the paper and the detritus of her personal possessions was an inkwell and a pen.

Glancing at the door which led into Rathbone's bedchamber, she swung around and sat at her table, pulling a piece of paper towards her.

Quickly and concisely, she set down the key points of Rathbone's plan, and the location of the machine gun on the barges. She finished it, every sense she possessed straining to hear if Rathbone was approaching her door. She sealed it, before snapping off a part of the candle and holding it over the flame, softening it just enough to be imprintable. She pulled a small pendant from around her neck, bearing her family crest, and pressed it into the wax, sealing her little note.

She had addressed it to the Foreign Secretary who she knew would be at the gala, and she could only hope she could pass it to him, unseen by Rathbone, and that he would believe her and act. If she had passed it directly to Victoria, the Queen would have dismissed it as nothing more than a bad joke. She loved her cousin too much to see the darkness in him.

Belinda frowned at that thought. They did say love was blind, but then why did she…?

She blocked off that thought when she heard the door creep open. Surreptitiously, she slid the note back under the paper, out of sight as she picked up a brush and began to nonchalantly brush her hair. In the mirror she glimpsed her fiancé, standing behind her, his hand on the doorknob.

"You know, Belinda, I am surprised at you. I expected more resistance from you," he began smoothly, and Belinda glared at him in the mirror. She set her brush down with a_ clack_.

"In case you haven't noticed, Nelson _darling_," she murmured sarcastically, "You happen to be holding a dear friend of mine hostage. Unless you've changed your mind?"

At her innocently raised eyebrows and red lips, he smirked arrogantly. "I can't say that I have, darling."

"Hence your immature need to gloat and attempt to goad me," Belinda replied dismissively, turning back to her mirror. Ignoring him now completely, she gathered her hair and smoothed it up, pinning it securely out of her face.

Regardless of her attempts to ignore him, she could feel his gaze on the back of her neck, and it made her shiver. If he found out that she was planning to betray him…

That thought once again sent seductive shivers down her spine.

Rathbone smiled when he noticed her tension.

If he knew his beautiful little snake, then she would be planning something. Not even the threat of harm to one of her friends would be enough to stop her.

He was half-dressed in his military trousers and boots, polished and buffed to a mirror-like shine. His white dress shirt, which would eventually be covered by his cavalry tunic, was open at the neck and his hair was delightfully ruffled.

He caught Belinda's glance at him in the mirror, and smiled anticipatorily.

He stalked forward, as graceful as a jungle cat, and placed his hands on her bare neck. She tensed, her spine straightening abruptly, as he gently caressed her smooth skin, brushing the tiny tendrils of hair that had escaped her elaborate up-do. Very carefully, he ran the tips of his fingers over her pulse, enjoying the feel of her pulse beneath his hands.

Unconsciously, Belinda's lips parted, and her eyes dilated in the reflection. Taking away one hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a beautiful necklace, consisting of a high diamond collar, from which hung three large yellow diamonds. He clasped it around her neck, and she shivered at its cold touch. Her eyes flicked down and then opened in panic, helplessly, when she noticed his hand brush the newspaper under which her note was hidden.

"A gift for you, my love," he murmured, smirking. She was so close to giving herself away. He bent his head and kissed her neck, feeling a familiar need overwhelm him when she shivered and pressed back against him.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, one hand rising to splay over the diamonds at her neck, feeling their icy chill thaw to her skin. The light of the fire cast a golden sheen over her pale skin, making her hair gleam. He watched its rich patina of browns and reds shimmer lustily, before returning her gaze in the mirror.

"Because I know you, my dear. I know you'll have one last ditch effort to stop me," he sighed against her skin, and Belinda shuddered before regaining her composure.

"I have done no such thing. You must be delusional, my lord," she retorted scornfully. Rathbone let out a bark of a laugh, before he straightened. His eyes ran over her loose robe, clinging to her skin where it was still slightly damp from her bath, the gap showing off just a little of the skin of her legs and chest. With his diamonds around her neck, she looked deliciously sinful, like a courtesan waiting for her master.

But not just yet.

His lips quirked haughtily as he watched her intently, before his eyes drifted to the newspaper on the side. Yes, there was definitely a little corner of white poking from beneath it.

He saw Belinda's eyes flit to his hand and back, as he moved closer. Just as his hand reached for it, she slammed her hand down on top of it, but she wasn't strong enough to stop him as he whipped it out.

"Well, well, well what do we have here?" he muttered teasingly, before stepping out of her reach. She stood, and he saw the battle-ready stance, and laughed.

"Really, Belinda," he scoffed. "Are you going to attack me in your dressing gown?"

She didn't move, just glared at him as he leant his shoulder on the gilded fireplace and popped the wax.

"It **must **be important for you to use your own seal, Belinda. And what do we have here, hm? The Queen's cousin, a traitor! Surely not!" he laughed as Belinda's fists clenched. "Machine guns on the barges? Boxers? The Royal Family in terrible danger? Oh dear, this is quite a fanciful tale you've woven."

"You arrogant bastard!" Belinda snarled, rushing forward to snatch it from him when he tossed it into the fire. He grabbed Belinda's outstretched wrist and swung her around, pinning her against the wall. He snatched her other wrist up and imprisoned it above her head in one of his hands, holding her imprisoned with his body.

"Now, now no need for profanity, my dear. A pathetic attempt at betrayal, Belinda," he muttered, his voice low and guttural as she writhed against him. He bent his head and brought his lips dangerously close to hers, causing Belinda to shrink back and glare at him angrily. "Ah, that's better."

"I had to do something. I told you before, I am not going to simply stand aside like some mindless ninny while you murder the Queen!" she said passionately, struggling against his grip, but it was like iron. She tried to move her legs, to get them in a position where she could knee him in the groin, but he trapped them outside his body, sandwiching their bodies even closer together.

"And I told you Belinda, what would happen if you tried to betray me," Rathbone growled, the feel of her soft body against his more than he could bear. "Or did you forget your precious Orchid?"

"No," Belinda smirked then, triumphant. "But I know you won't kill her."

"Oh? Why won't I do that," Rathbone asked, one eyebrow raised superciliously. Belinda met it with one of her own.

"Because if you kill Orchid, you lose your only bargaining chip with me, thus giving me all the excuse I need to fight you, _darling_," she snarled sarcastically, as he stared at her.

Outmanoeuvred, but only for the moment.

"Clever, very clever, my love," he breathed against her lips, pressing closer as her eyes narrowed.

"Thank you," she murmured, her breath strained where he stood so close.

"You're welcome. But you've forgotten another, very important factor in all this," he replied huskily, as his eyes dropped to her lips and he took them before she could answer.

At his kiss, her eyes shut dreamily and her body lost all its defensive tension, separated as they were by a few measly barriers of silk and fabric. Her fists unclenched, and she was lost in all the sensations of the physical as he released her wrists and pulled her closer, his hands moulding her body against his through the silk. Belinda moaned into his mouth, all coherent thought lost for the moment.

All coherent thought really did fly out the window as he shifted against her, letting her know how much he wanted her. She cried out into his mouth as lightning rods of pleasure made their way to her brain.

Rathbone hauled her closer, against the evidence of his desire, before he turned her and tumbled her back onto the rug before the fire. He followed her down, capturing her lips again in a kiss designed to utterly seduce her senses, ravishing them beyond recall.

He loved her so much, it was like a physical obsession of the soul, and the prospect of being so close to having her as his for all their joint lives, was too intoxicating. He didn't really care about her attempt at betrayal, as his hands rose from her waist to move apart the sides of her dressing gown and expose her soft flesh to his mouth as he broke from hers to kiss down her body. Belinda moaned as she leant her head back, her hands buried in his messy hair, as he drove her into pleasurable insanity.

When Rathbone's lips returned to hers, she pulled his shirt open, pressing her bare skin against his, the wiry hair abrading her soft skin. He groaned into her mouth, before his hands left her waist to travel to her legs, positioning them before he tugged at the fastenings of his waistband.

Belinda cried out when she felt him inside of her, thrusting into her body, and she clutched him to her.

The thought that this was exactly **not** what she should be doing right now didn't even enter her whirling mind.

All she could do was _feel_.

The sensation of the rough material of his trousers abrading her inner thighs as he took her ruthlessly, his hard, hot body pressing hers into the rug; the warmth of the fire beside them.

His lips on her neck, on her breast, on her forehead and then again on her lips as he cried out her name, and they both came apart, surrendering to release as their bodies joined effortlessly one more time.

Belinda felt Rathbone collapse atop her, and relished his solid weight both within her and on top of her, his head nestling on her sweaty collarbone. She held him there, stroking his rumpled hair as they slowly recovered from the amazing high they experienced every time they made love.

"I love you so much," he murmured into her skin, directly above her heart as she felt it both soar and contract in pain.

"I know," she breathed, just holding him to her. He raised his head, satiation evident in his beloved eyes as she passed her fingers over his face. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm.

"And that's why I know you won't betray me. Despite all, despite everything, you _**do**_ love me, Belinda. And I know you're carrying my child," he whispered, as Belinda froze.

"You can't know that," she whispered softly, almost sadly, turning her face away to stare at the flames.

"Can't I?" he murmured, turning her face back to his once more. The firelight glimmered off her necklace, setting the diamonds on fire. Just like her eyes. "We've lain together seven times in the past three days, love. The chances of you **not**__carrying my child are severely slim at the moment, darling."

"I'm still not sure," she breathed, unable to lie as she gazed into his dark eyes. She tenderly tucked a lock of his hair, before she let him kiss her gently. "We need to get ready."

"Just once more," he breathed, nuzzling her neck desirously as she arched, feeling desire begin its heady flight anew when he strengthened inside her. With a soft sigh, she succumbed to him one last time.

Just one last time.

* * *

An hour later Rathbone waited impatiently at the foot of the stairs, his sabre clinking as he paced back and forth.

He was so close to having both the throne and Belinda safe and his. So many years of planning had finally culminated in this night.

He could taste sweet victory already.

But he, a seasoned military commander and well as a diplomat, distrusted it. He would not feel triumphant until the crown sat on his head, and Belinda sat beside him on the throne.

He felt concern weave through his thoughts, as he mulled over this new revelation he had just discovered.

She was with child.

He was sure of it. Not just taking into account the number of times they had made love, but also her very reluctance to deny his words outright told him she was sure she was with child.

She hadn't denied she loved him, either.

Despite everything, she was still an enemy until Victoria was eliminated. He had to remember that, had to keep that in the forefront of his mind tonight.

But he didn't want her in the firing line. He knew his plan was fraught with risk, but he could not draw back now. If he left her at home, she could escape and try to warn the Queen. Or find her companions.

Now, she was safer, and he was safer as long as she was with him.

On the thought, he turned as he heard the rustle of silk, and felt his jaw drop slightly.

Belinda descended the stairs in a golden gown covered in black lace, as a sign of her half-mourning, the bodice off the shoulder and clinging to her sumptuous curves. The long bustle trailed behind her, like an effervescent trail of pure gold, embroidered with tiny roses. Her long hair, which he had last seen rumpled and delightfully tousled, was smoothed once more into a flawless bun, with only a few curly tendrils escaping to frame her radiant face. His gift hung from her neck, and she wore no other jewellery.

There was no need, as the yellow diamonds reflected the candlelight and deepened to show off the alabaster of her skin. The skin of her arms were covered by white gloves, and a sash of royal red hung shoulder to hip. A small tiara was nestled in her glorious hair, small and exquisitely carved with the likeness of roses, matching the gold of her gown and necklace.

He held out his hand, and she took it haughtily, and he could see her defiant façade had returned. He inwardly chuckled, before stepping close.

"You look mesmerising, my love," he murmured, bending his head and kissing her softly, and then more deeply, invoking the memories of their recent lovemaking in her dressing room.

Belinda looked up at him, all regal beauty in his dark blue cavalry uniform and the silver piping, slashed in half by the red sash of the royal family, his sabre at his side.

And in that moment, she forgot they were enemies and he was a traitor, and she just let herself love him. She stepped closer and kissed him with all the passion and the love in her soul, one he returned wholeheartedly, gathering her closer when he felt the pure love in her lips and her mouth.

Oh how she wished they were really married, and Nelson wasn't a traitor, and she was with child, and they were just going out for the Queen's Jubilee!

_But life is never that kind._

The bitter thought crossed her mind as their lips disengaged, and she stared into his eyes.

"I will stop you," she breathed, her bodice pressed against his cavalry tunic. Consternation filled his eyes, and he sighed.

"Still fighting me, little Belinda. You will not win," he murmured, lifting her hand and kissing it, before he covered it with his own. When he took his hand, she saw there a ring on her left ring finger, diamonds in a kite-shaped setting, with a tiny reproduction of the Rathbone crest in the very centre, carved from enamel and inlaid with tiny chips of sapphires and rubies.

Rathbone's eyes gazed into hers, as he bent his head once more and kissed the ring.

"You will not win, my love," he breathed, one last time.

With that, he proffered his arm and she took it silently, and their gazes locked intently before they stepped out of the house.

Battle was joined.


	13. Fireworks At The Jubilee

Chapter 13: Fireworks at the Jubilee

* * *

Belinda shivered in the cold air as Rathbone handed her down from the carriage, twining her arm around his as the crowd surged and pushed around them.

"Don't try anything, my love," Rathbone murmured in her ear, as the Foreign Secretary inclined his head to them, and they did so politely in return.

She was glad of her cloak, hiding her flushed skin from the world as they moved towards the archway flanked by the Lifeguards on horseback, the cheering crowd hedging them in as they moved slowly towards the queue waiting to file in.

The Queen still had not arrived, and as Belinda looked up at the towering figure of Big Ben, above the Union Flag and up at the clock face, she saw it was still half an hour till midnight.

Trying to ignore the shaking of her hands, she allowed Nelson to remove her cloak, sliding it down her arms before handing it to a footman.

Absentmindedly, she scanned the crowd and froze when she saw a familiar face, in tweed and a bowler hat, covering his face.

Jeffries, her coachman.

"See anything interesting, my dear?" Nelson asked, as Belinda jumped and spun around, plastering a scornful expression on her face.

"Even if I did, you know you have my hands tied, _dear_," she muttered back, as he placed her hand on his arm, and they glided through the crowd easily.

The Houses of Parliament were lit with a thousand candles, the Westminster Bridge thronged with crowds of well-wishers waving miniature copies of the Union Flag dangling from Big Ben's face.

The crowd's cheers escalated when the Queen's Coach approached, and Belinda felt panic surge.

She had to do something, and fast!

But with Nelson quite literally breathing down her neck, she had no avenue of escape.

Smiling gracefully on his arm, she let him do the talking as her mind frantically raced, searching for a solution to this mess.

As much as she might love Nelson, she couldn't let him do this.

The Queen and the Royal Family entered, as she bowed along with Nelson, their red sashes marking them out in turn as minor royals, before taking their places at the balcony, as the fireworks began and Big Ben struck the first chime of midnight.

"Soon, my love, soon everything will be perfect," Nelson breathed, as he led her away from the Queen and towards a part of the balcony protected by a towering stone lion. Looking out over the river, she spotted the barges manned by Boxers, scurrying around and setting off fireworks, and her quick eyes easily identified where he must be hiding the machine gun.

"You look so lovely tonight," Nelson complimented her, as Belinda bristled angrily.

"And you're despicable," she snapped, at which he took hold of her waist and, screened by the stone lion, swung her around against it.

Their lips were within inches of each other, as her breath hitched and she looked up into his dark eyes, seeing the power and the sheer glittering malevolence there.

And still she could not bring herself to hate him.

"When you are my wife and my Queen, and you hold our child in your arms you will thank me for this," Nelson told her arrogantly, very gently brushing her lips with his, before raising her hand and kissing the ring she wore there.

"Never," she vowed, one eyebrow rising superciliously, as she fought not to let him feel her pulse hitch at his nearness. They were in public for God's sake!

Nelson smiled, exasperated by her stubbornness, but this close to victory magnanimous when Victoria's voice echoed across the balcony.

"Nelson!"

Belinda turned away, looking out over the river as she felt Nelson move away, before he whispered something in her ear.

"Remember not one word. Don't move from this spot," he warned her, before he left her side.

Once he had gone, her gloved fists clenched as she once more desperately searched the crowds for Jeffries, when she spotted something to make her heart pound.

A figure leaping from Westminster Bridge onto one of the barges.

It had to be Chon Wang, no one else she knew would know how to survive that fall without breaking their legs.

Her heart rising, she glanced towards where Nelson and the Queen conversed amicably, her blood boiling at the falsity and the charm with which he blinded the old woman.

* * *

As Nelson approached the Queen, he felt frustration rise, the same emotion he always felt when something dragged him away from his Belinda.

But he had to keep up the pretence for a few more minutes, just a few, then his future and Belinda's would be assured.

He had ensconced Belinda behind the stone lion, protected from the bullets, and so would he be once he had dealt with the Queen. With one glance towards the barges, he stepped up beside Victoria's throne.

"Why are you hiding yourself back there?" she asked, a fond gleam in her eyes as she regarded her favourite cousin. Nelson inhaled and glanced out over the river.

"I shouldn't like to impede your view, Your Highness," he replied respectfully, before he glanced over at Belinda. Thankfully the damned stubborn woman was staying where he'd put her, safe from danger as she looked out over the river.

"Nonsense," the Queen scoffed, at which Nelson blinked. "You arranged all this, you should have a front row view!"

Mind racing ahead to get out of it, he smiled obsequiously, charming the old woman, as her piercing eyes followed his to Belinda.

"I regret that I must, respectfully, decline. I need to keep a good eye on proceedings," he offered for an excuse, but it was too late. She had seen Belinda.

"You seem to be keeping an eye on much more than proceedings, Nelson," Victoria chuckled. "Do my eyes deceive me or is that Lady Belinda Sinclair you've hidden away over there?"

"It is she, Your Majesty," Nelson nodded, unable to hold back the proud smirk from forming on his face.

"Glad to see you've finally gotten her out of her den, at last! May I assume that…?" she began inquisitively, to which Nelson inclined his head.

"We are keeping it quiet at the moment, Your Majesty, but yes she will soon be my wife," he answered her unspoken question, at which Victoria chuckled and clapped her hands delightedly.

"After all these years, I am thrilled, Nelson!" she told him, at which he almost squirmed.

"As am I," he muttered, glancing at the barges nervously. A particularly colourful display of fireworks exploded and danced over their heads, distracting Victoria.

"Oooh!" She clapped her hands again, her diamond jewellery jingling with her movement. "Nelson, you've outdone yourself!"

"Wait till you see the finale," he murmured, with an anticipatory smile before he made his excuses and escaped.

* * *

Belinda watched with a surge of excitement as a red and black clad figure scrambled onto the roof of the barge, and distracted the Boxers, while another sneaked along to the tent hiding the machine gun from view. It had to be Chon and Lin.

They were alive!

From the corner of her eye, she spotted Nelson leaving Victoria's side and stalking back towards her, the candlelight glinting off his sabre and medals when the first sounds of gunfire shred the air.

She caught a moment's glimpse of Nelson darting forward to shield her, pressing her down and against the stone lion as the deadly bullets impacted in the stone all around them. With a cry, she felt one slide the skin of her arm open as it passed, unable to see except for the dark blue of Nelson's cavalry uniform. It was pure terror as the gunfire never seemed to end, the air reverberating with the screams of women.

Suddenly the gunfire seemed to turn intermittent, and she managed to extricate herself enough from Nelson's protective hold to see Victoria, alive and well, being escorted by her Guards from the balcony, their bodies providing cover for her as she was ushered to safety.

She felt triumph soar, knowing that Nelson's plans were foiled, as the gunfire stopped and their eyes met.

"Are you alright? The child?" he asked urgently, at which Belinda hissed in pain as his expert fingers probed the thin, bleeding line on her arm.

"You've failed," she breathed triumphantly, as he stood up abruptly. Anger filled him when he saw the figures of Wu Chow and Chon Wang fighting tooth and nail on the barge, while the girl held the Boxers at bay on the roof.

"No matter what happens, I will come back for you," he growled down at her, before turning tail and running away into the Houses of Parliament.

Belinda stared after him. "As if I'm going to let you get away that easily!" she snarled, before leaping to her feet. She spotted Jeffries waving desperately in the crowd, as she rushed away towards him.

"Jeffries!" she called, as he reached out and pulled her to his side. "How did-?"

"You're not the only one who can do some fancy kickin', milady!" he joked, as he pulled her towards the carriages, and she recognised her own parked there.

Darting inside, she found a change of clothes and her sword waiting for her. Wasting no time, she ripped her gown and underclothes off, sliding into the breeches, loose shirt and pullover with a sigh of relief, before tying the sword to her waist. She unclasped Nelson's gift, laying it with her gown, crumpled on the floor of the carriage like a golden puddle. She couldn't, however, find the will to remove the ring Nelson had given her. She laced up her boots, and then darted out of the carriage, tarrying only enough for her to kiss Jeffries soundly on the cheek.

"Thank you!" she called over the noise of the crowd, aware he pressed something into her hand. It was a pistol.

"Good luck!" he yelled, before she turned and disappeared into the crowd, heading for the secret entrance she knew would take her down to the sewers, and up from there into Parliament.

* * *

Nelson marched quickly along the corridor leading from the House of Commons to Big Ben, his sabre clinking at his side, his Derringer waiting to be sprung into his hand.

He hated leaving Belinda behind but he needed to make sure nothing led back to him, before he could claim her as his.

His dreams of becoming King might have been foiled, but he would still have her.

He skidded to a halt when he heard the sound of hoof beats, rounding the corner of a pillar to find the American and the Inspector riding towards him.

The horse reared, and the pathetic Inspector fell with an _oomph_!

"Hold it right there, Rathboner!" the Yank growled, and Rathbone almost rolled his eyes at the idiotic insult. Instead he waited, fingering the spring that would fling his Derringer into his palm. "I'm guessin' by your hasty retreat that you're still twentieth in line for the throne!"

Annoyed, Rathbone scowled. "Tenth!"

"Inspector Doyle, arrest this man!" O'Bannon pointed to him triumphantly, as the Inspector rose and dusted himself off, before advancing on Rathbone with a steely look.

In one graceful movement, he flipped the switch, bringing his Derringer up and aiming, before he fired.

The gunshot reverberated as the Yank ducked instinctively, his warning shout too late for Doyle. "He's got a gun!"

Doyle collapsed to the floor, as Nelson felt a little smugness wash through him.

Then he ducked as another gunshot reverberated through the room, and he straightened to find a smoking hole in the marble pillar where his head had been.

He looked around, and into Belinda's determined eyes as she dropped her own pistol, and rushed towards him, drawing her sword. He turned tail, and ran.

_You want to play, my love, then let's play…_

* * *

"Belinda, wait!" Roy yelled, but Belinda paid him no heed, rushing into the stairwell into which Nelson had fled, but he was already halfway up the never-ending flights of stairs, leading to the top of Big Ben.

She gave chase, making it to the fourth flight by the time Roy and Chon entered the stairwell, ducking out of sight when Nelson leaned over the banister and fired at the two men.

She ducked aside, but knew the shot wasn't meant for her. Nelson wouldn't harm her, not now she was carrying his child.

"You gonna need a bigger gun!" Roy yelled, and she rolled her eyes at the empty bravado. That wouldn't stop Nelson.

The thought fuelled her determination, as she resumed her pursuit, ignoring Roy and Chon's cries for her to wait.

Her legs burning from the strain, she ascended the final flight and entered the dark inner workings of Big Ben, the wheels and machinery grinding methodically around her. At that moment Roy and Chon caught up with her, as one they began to search the area for Nelson.

Belinda strained her ears for any sound, for any telltale movement of his boot against wood, or the ring of his sabre, or the click of his Derringer being loaded.

The wheels and the pistons whirred around her, as she ascended a ladder, while Roy and Chon argued below her.

"Hey Rathbone!" Roy suddenly yelled. "I was jus thinking of a title for my new book. '_Roy O'Bannon Vs Little Lord Sissy' _or what about '_Roy O'Bannon Vs the Man who would be Queen'_?"

Belinda rolled her eyes, knowing what he was doing. Trying to raise Rathbone's temper.

"That won't work, Roy!" she called tauntingly. "Nelson has too much of an ego to let you annoy him so easily."

She thought she saw a shadow move, but dismissed it as imagination while her nerves stretched taut, while she stalked the upper walkways, keeping an eye on Roy and Chon below.

"No sign of him, guys! The coast is clear up here." Roy called resignedly, while Belinda frowned. This was the last level where could he had gone?

Then she saw the shadows behind Roy move.

"Roy!" she and Chon yelled as Rathbone dashed forward behind his back, kicking him through the clock face just as he turned around.

The unrepentant grin which spread over Nelson's face sent shivers down Belinda's spine.

"Whoops!" he sighed, before turning around as Chon grabbed a rope, flung his sword into the underside of one of the walkways and proceeded to flip his way onto Rathbone's level. "Come on up. Let me show you how your father died!" Rathbone called tauntingly to Chon, as the Chinaman's face creased with anger.

Belinda herself rushed forward and grabbed a rope, swinging from the opposite side of the room, before timing her jump perfectly, and flipped, landing on the opposite side of Rathbone just as Chon made it to their level.

* * *

Using his sword, Nelson flicked Roy's into his other hand, as Belinda and Chon rushed at him from both sides.

Nelson easily parried both their attacks, as they began to dance on the narrow walkways. Chon was easy to play with, his attacks fuelled by rage, making him slow and blind to react.

Belinda, on the other hand, worried him. He did not wish to hurt the mother of his child, the damned woman! Why couldn't she, for once, have done as she was told?

Why couldn't she have stayed out of this?

Their swords clashed together, as he spun Chon into Belinda, but she flipped over his head, bringing her sabre down in a downwards slash towards his head, one he countered and returned, just to be parried and riposted again.

With a well-placed kick, he disposed of Chon for a moment, while he concentrated on neutralising Belinda without harming her. Or the child.

In an unorthodox move, he grabbed her wrists and yanked her against him.

"Forgive me," he breathed, before crushing her lips to his, her squeal trapped between them, before he spun her away. Carried off by her own momentum, she slammed into the railing of the walkway, bashing her head as she collapsed with a _thud_ against some burlap sacks on the walkway.

"No!" Chon yelled, recovering as he rushed forward to check Belinda.

"She's alive," Nelson murmured confidently, knowing his move would not have hurt her or the child she carried. "Do you really think I would put the woman I love, or my child in danger?"

"What?" Chon panted, checking her pulse absentmindedly. It was strong and steady, as she breathed regularly.

"She's carrying my child, Chon. How does that make you feel?" Nelson asked with a malicious smirk.

With a growl and a cry, Chon lifted his sword and charged him, as Nelson sighed exasperatedly.

"Into the breach once more," he muttered, raising his sabres and beginning the dance again.

This was too easy.

The thought filtered into Rathbone's mind as he parried and countered every blow Chon delivered, adding his own with relative ease. Outmatching the Chinaman, he settled down to play, tease and taunt his opponent.

Sensing an advantage, Nelson darted forward, driving Chon back with a series of deadly cuts and thrusts, holding one sabre behind him, until he had the tiring man against the safety rope at the end of the walkway.

The Chinaman blocked his downward slash, pulling their sabres into a lock, before throwing Nelson off, and leaping up only to be kicked back with a blow from his boot.

Chon tumbled over the walkway's edge, hanging into the rope for dear life, dropping his sabres onto the side. Nelson slashed the rope, so he hung from a single strand while he, barely out of breath, casually leant against the side.

"Come along. I'm waiting," he called teasingly, an evil smirk on his handsome face.

Chon pulled himself back up onto the walkway, as Nelson straightened from his relaxed pose, kicked a sabre into Chon's hands, and took up the other.

Already tired, it was not hard for Nelson to deflect the Chinaman's impetuous lunge, before coming back with a blistering attack of his own, as they danced around the central column of Big Ben, constantly attacking and parrying as he herded Chon into a corner.

He had to give it to the Chinaman, he was persistent and resourceful but just not good enough.

With a slap of his blade, Nelson pushed Chon onto a walkway just below the one where Belinda now lay, unconscious.

He followed, stalking Chon like a hunter closing in on his prey.

Chon retreated then lunged, but Nelson read his move and parried, sliding one of his sabres down his arm, cutting it. With a yelp, Chon let go of his sabre, and cradled his injured arm, before casting a tired look at his opponent.

Using his sabres, Nelson took up Chon's sabre and tossed it back to him.

He was bound to win this fight, so why should he not be a gentleman and allow the Chinaman one last try? It was only sporting, and he was a gentleman after all.

"One more," he called, as Chon caught the weapon. He glanced down at the sword before returning Nelson's laughing gaze, and he attacked. With ease, Nelson deflected the attack, slashing Chon's other arm now and disarming him altogether. In a reverse lunge, he pinned the man at the throat, before slashing away his cravat.

"One more," he called, sensing he had won, but still wanting to play. This was too much fun, as he watched the range of emotions wash over Chon's face as he realised he could not beat Rathbone.

Anger, frustration, shame, resignation…

He hefted one of his own sabres to the Chinaman, now telling himself this time he would go for the kill.

"How disappointing," Nelson taunted him, neither man noticing the sword now stuck in the piston below, as the machinery groaned.

"One more," Chon gasped, weary and in pain. He caught the sabre, as Nelson settled into his en garde position, but he did not attack. "You killed my friend!"

He slashed one of the support ropes holding up the walkway, as it tilted dangerously.

Nelson dropped his own sabre, clinging on for dear life to the railing, as he glanced at the suicidal Chinaman, the man he had underestimated.

"You killed my father!" he yelled, slashing the other one, as the walkway dropped, the two man fell and the ancient wood groaned in protest. It listed to the side and swung, flinging the two man straight through the clock face of Big Ben.

The last thing Nelson saw before he was flung to his death, was the horror-filled eyes of Belinda as she cried out, her hand outstretched to him.

"NO!"

* * *

Silence now reigned in the clock tower, as Belinda stared at the space where her love had just been standing. Her head throbbed, but she paid that no heed, as she scrambled to her feet and rushed to the hole in the clock face, peering out. Her heart wrenched as she watched Nelson fall into College Green below. Tears fell unchecked, as she stood and raced back down the stairwell, and out into the crowds.

She didn't stop to think about Roy or Chon or Lin, just about Nelson as she raced through the crowds, barely able to comprehend the truth.

Nelson was dead.

She pushed through the crowds, not caring when some cried out in indignation. She didn't bother to turn when the cries of two men as they fell from the tower reverberated, nor did she look back as the roof of the royal carriage collapsed inwards.

All there was in her mind was Nelson.

She found him, splayed out beside one of the fountains on College Green, his beautiful face marred by cuts and splinters, his strong limbs at odd angles, his glassy eyes staring up at the sky.

She skidded to a halt, and felt the sobs tear at her heart. For all his villainy, she didn't want him to die, she knew it with all her heart as she paced to his side.

She dropped to her knees, tears falling freely, unchecked. Her heart was broken in two, never to be whole as she stroked back his mussed hair.

Her heart grieved for her, for him, for them, for their unborn child who would never know its father.

"I would have followed you anywhere," she breathed. "Anywhere you led, I just couldn't let you murder Victoria."

Now at last, when he was long gone, only now could she say all that was in her shattered heart.

"Why couldn't we have just fled together? Why did you have to be so goddamned evil? Why did I have to love you?" she sobbed, framing his face with her hands, wishing he could hear her. In that moment, nothing mattered but him. She heard the sounds of a commotion approaching, as she bent her head and kissed his still-warm forehead. "I love you. I always have and I always will, Nelson Rathbone. See you in hell," she muttered, before she brushed one last kiss on his dead lips before standing and walking away into the darkness, as the Queen's guards arrived.

She didn't see the tiny rise and fall of his chest, as she walked away, nor did the Dragoon Guards as they loaded him into an ambulance, and drove him away.

But not to the hospital.

They took his body to the palace.

* * *

**Just keep in mind there are still 3 more chapters to go ;)**

**The fight scene alone took up about 5 pages.**

**One question though: anyone else wonder why Rathbone bothered running? With Chon and Lin taking care of Wu Chow and his Boxers, there was nothing to incriminate him except for the word of three foreigners, who I doubt the Queen would have listened to over her favourite cousin?**


	14. Things Lost And Found

Chapter 14: Things Lost And Found

* * *

If someone had told Belinda six months ago, she would be sitting in the grand audience hall of Buckingham Palace, watching as an Inspector, an American and a Chinaman being knighted, while two weeks pregnant with the child of a dead traitor, she would have told them they were insane, and probably thrashed their hides for their troubles.

It had been confirmed by her physician. She was carrying Nelson Rathbone's child.

Now she sat, gowned in dark blue, as close to mourning black she would go. No one knew of her connection with Rathbone. Initially she had been suspected, but the testimony of Chon, Roy and Lin had cleared her. The Queen, in particular, had been supportive when Belinda had divulged her secret.

She sat beside Lin in the front row, flanked by the great and the good, as the newly recovered Chon, Roy and Doyle knelt.

Chon and Roy had suffered minor injuries from their fall from the clock face of Big Ben, mainly cuts and bruises, and Roy suffered a sprained ankle.

They had been fortunate the Union flag had slowed their fall, and then the Royal carriage underneath was pure luck.

Doyle's arm was still in a sling, while his gunshot wound healed.

"In recognition of outstanding bravery, I dub thee Sir Chon Wang," Victoria graciously smiled on her saviours, gently tapping the Chinaman's shoulder with the ceremonial sword. He bowed his head, and then raised it. Belinda felt Lin smile proudly beside her.

"For uncommon valour, I dub thee Sir Roy O'Bannon," Victoria tapped Roy's shoulder next, and Lin smiled even wider. "And for steadfast dedication to justice, I dub thee Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Arise."

At that word, the three men stood, and turned to face the company, she saw Chon incline his head to Roy, muttering something as everyone stood, applauding.

It was the first time in centuries that a foreigner had been knighted, let alone two in one day.

A truly unlikely happening.

But as everyone slowly began to file out, stopping to greet and wring the hands of London's newest heroes, Belinda glanced over at the throne of Victoria, and felt sadness overwhelm her.

If Nelson's plan had worked, he would still be alive. If he hadn't been so damned stubborn, and gentlemanly and just so…Nelson, he would still be alive!

Alive and here to see their child born and grow.

After the doctor had confirmed it, such an unfurling of bittersweet maternal joy had washed over her, as she imagined what the child would be like. She imagined it would be a boy, perhaps with Nelson's dark eyes and unruly hair. Even now she could hear his childish whoops of delight as he ran through the halls of Sinclair House.

But then, thoughts of the future crowded in, as she realised she must face carrying their child, and raising it alone. She would be ostracised by society, cast out for having a relationship with a traitor, for bearing a child out of wedlock.

Even so, she would never regret their child. Never.

"Lady Sinclair!" Victoria's imperious voice boomed across the hall, as she paused while the quartet of heroes walked outside. "Walk with me a moment."

Unable to refuse, Belinda waited obediently in her sombre blue gown, before falling in beside Victoria and her ladies, their bustles drifting over the floor like water.

"Tis a strange event indeed, knighting a colonial and a Chinaman all in one day." Victoria began, clasping her hands demurely, as they slowly walked out of the grand hall, and down the staircase.

"Indeed," Belinda echoed respectfully, her eyes trained on the four people leading the way out of the palace, Lin's crimson gown shining radiantly in the light.

"What shall you do now?" Victoria asked, her piercing old eyes fixed on the younger woman.

"I shall probably return to Japan. There is nothing left for me here," Belinda replied quietly, looking down at the ring she now wore on a chain around her neck, in memory of her lost love.

"I would advise you not to be too hasty, Lady Sinclair," Victoria murmured, at which Belinda frowned.

Just as they were about to leave the palace altogether, and step into the courtyard, Victoria held her back.

"I know what it is to lose a loved one, my lady Sinclair. You feel as though your heart may burst, and it shall never be whole again," the older woman advised her gently, to which Belinda had to blink back tears. If anyone knew what she was going through, Victoria would. She had lost Albert, her husband, at the age of 42 to typhoid fever.

"How did you survive?" she breathed, looking down as she fought to control the tears. Her inner calm had long been shattered, and she did not know if she would ever regain it.

"I had my children, and I had my memories," Victoria told her with a small smile. "The ones we have loved and lost have a tendency to come back to us, in one form or another."

"If only that were so," Belinda whispered, looking up and away.

Then an achingly familiar voice, so familiar and close that it felt like the word was breathed against her neck, washed over her.

_Belinda…_

Instantly alert, Belinda spun around, eyes wide.

"Is something wrong, dear?" Victoria asked concernedly, her ladies murmuring apprehensively.

"I thought…nothing," Belinda replied, realising she had been only one to hear it. But it has sounded so much like _him_.

She made to leave the hall, when Victoria gently clasped her arm.

"You have sacrificed much for your monarch, Belinda, and you shall be rewarded. I fear we shall not meet again," she told her with a sad smile, while Belinda stared at her.

"I do not understand," she breathed, a painful vice closing around her chest.

"You shall, my dear. You shall." Victoria replied, before she kissed the young woman's forehead.

Belinda curtseyed, and left, confused.

Another whisper, all too familiar, washed through her mind.

_Belinda…_

* * *

Belinda walked out into the sunshine, towards the group waiting for her beside the brougham. She would ride with them to the docks, and see them off on their voyage to America.

Roy finally stopped teasing Chon, to turn to Belinda.

"You ok, Belinda?" he asked gently, as Belinda ceased her blind staring at the scenery as they passed through London.

"I am perfectly fine, Roy," she answered serenely, before she lapsed into silence for the rest of the journey.

* * *

It was late afternoon before she made it home, after farewelling Chon, Roy and Lin at the dockside.

The house was empty as she shrugged off her cloak and gloves, leaving them over the banister. It was a Sunday, and she had given her servants time off, to recover from the events of the past few weeks.

She was alone.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, as she climbed the stairs wearily, tired beyond all reason. She was barely twenty-six, and already she had seen more grief, loss and death than she wanted to see for a lifetime.

As she glided into her bedroom, a thunderstorm broke over London, tiny little droplets of rain beginning to tap insistently against the windows.

Sighing, she crossed to the window, suddenly feeling hot and fevered. A headache beat at her temples, pounding away like a drumbeat.

Something was coming, and Belinda felt as though she waited with bated breath, but for what she didn't know.

_Stop it_, she told herself, _stop it right now. Nothing is coming, no-one is here apart from you, and you're just being jittery._

"Hello dear," an aching familiar voice murmured behind her, awash with dark desire and hunger, as Belinda stiffened, her eyes meeting a pair of dark, cool, burning orbs in the window.

The reflection of a person she knew too well, loved too much stared back at her, as she gasped and spun around.

_Belinda…_

"Nelson!"

* * *

**All will be explained soon, I promise. :)**


	15. A Love Forever Sealed

The Bane Of Men

**Warning: very, very, very explicit sex scene coming up.**

Nelson moved towards Belinda warily, sensing with his newfound abilities that she was surprised, fearful, even of him.

Not like his Belinda at all.

Every cell of his body ached to kiss her, to take her in his arms and let her know everything was to be alright.

He would never forget the whispered words he had heard, as he lay, dying under Big Ben.

Now he was free at last, to collect on the vows he had heard.

She looked exquisite in her deep blue gown, her pale skin glowing in the late afternoon light. It made him ache just to look at her.

"Sweetheart," he moved forward, arms outstretched but she moved away, her back to the wall.

"What are you? A ghost? Typical that it has to be you who comes back to haunt me," she breathed, fear making her wide eyes even more beautiful. He could smell her fear, the rush of blood through her veins, and it was intoxicating.

"No darling, I am alive," he murmured, walking forward to catch her arms. Her hands rose tremblingly, to caress his face.

"You're alive?" she whispered breathlessly, her chest already heaving with sobs. "But I saw you die. I saw you fall from Big Ben, I saw you die, Nelson!"

Wincing at the memory, he retorted sarcastically, "I haven't forgotten."

"This can't be real. I must be dreaming," she breathed, her hands sliding down his neck to rest on his ruined cavalry tunic.

"Does this feel like a dream?" he asked, cradling her head between his hands as he bent his head. Her eyes fluttered shut as their lips met, and it was like a floodgate of emotion had opened. He could taste the salt of her tears; feel the beat of her pulse singing to him like a siren's song, as he invaded her mouth before letting her into his own.

He buried his hands in her coiled hair, pulling it down out of its bonds.

Oh how he had missed her! All those long hours imprisoned within the bowels of the palace, all he had been able to think about was her.

Not his failure, not his disgrace, not the ending of his life as he knew it.

Just her.

He could sense the life growing within her, and it filled him with joy to know she was with child. A life he would protect with his own, if need be.

After long blissful minutes, full of passion and yearning, Belinda pulled back, staring dazedly into his eyes, sunk in his arms.

"No, this is no dream, but how…?" she asked weakly.

Nelson closed his eyes, as the memories rolled over him.

"It's a long story," he sighed.

* * *

_One week before…_

Nelson was soaring through the air, weightless, the cold wind of his fall whistling in his ears like a funeral dirge.

Where did it go so horribly wrong?

His eyes were riveted on the horrified, grief-stricken face of his fiancée as he fell, before the ruined clock face of Big Ben rushed past, and the starry, firework filled sky rushed away from him.

He felt the hard _smack_ of his body onto the unforgiving ground, felt every one of his bones break, and then nothing as his mind began to drift and he stopped breathing.

It was, had to be the end, he knew it.

And deep in his heart, his only regret was that he would never get to see his child born and grow. Never hold him; never hold Belinda in his arms again.

Nelson waited to die, waited to feel the cold rush of numbness fill him up and tear him away, but nothing was happening. He was paralysed, unable to move, but he could breathe, and even though his eyes were closed and he was racked with pain, he could think.

Then he felt her come to him.

He felt her fingers on his face, stroking back his hair, and he mentally begged her to check his pulse and see he was alive. But then again, why would she?

Who could survive a fall of over three hundred feet?

For some reason he had.

His limbs were molten, immovable, and he couldn't even raise his eyelids. He was utterly paralysed, and he was terrified as he had never been before.

But the sound of her voice, even as sorrowful and choked with tears as it was, soothed him.

"_I would have followed you anywhere," she breathed. "Anywhere you led, I just couldn't let you murder Victoria."_

Her words distracted from the pain, as he fought to do something, anything to show he heard, that he was alive, that he hadn't left her alone.

But he was powerless.

He felt her hands cup his face, stroking his cut cheek, as her next words gave him the strength to breathe again.

"Why couldn't we have just fled together? Why did you have to be so goddamned evil? Why did I have to love you?" she sobbed. Nelson felt her lips on his forehead, as the familiar sounds of tramping boots approached.

Why did they sound so much clearer that ever before? It was as if in his blind paralysis, all his other senses had sharpened tenfold.

He could hear the roar of the fireworks, the rush of wind through the trees, the clanging chime of Big Ben, Belinda's gentle breathing, the heartbeats of her and the child she bore.

He could feel an almost thrumming cord of life and vitality around him, as natural as Nature herself, and he felt drawn to it, calling to everything primal within him.

He could smell the tangy spice of Belinda' blood and the blood of the approaching soldiers.

And yet he was still too weak to do anything other than breathe.

Belinda' next words completely distracted him from that disorientating feeling however, as he felt his heart soar, bursting back into life.

"_I love you. I always have and I always will, Nelson Rathbone. See you in hell," she muttered, before she brushed one last kiss on his dead lips._

Desperate now, he fought for the will to move, as he heard her footsteps recede, and she disappeared. He had failed.

The pain reared up again, taking him whole, as he sank into blackness, barely aware of the ungentle soldiers' when they carted him into the ambulance, or the _clop _of the horses' hooves on the cobbled streets.

The pain was like a physical entity, gnawing away at his body like a rabid dog.

The only thing, with which he clung to sanity as he fell into unconsciousness, was the soothing memory of Belinda's words, and her love.

* * *

Nelson slowly became aware, the darkness receding from his mind, the pain dissipated.

Then he realised what was wrong.

Even before he opened his eyes, he could tell where he was.

The cold stone floor beneath his hands and feet, against his belly, the smells of polish and baking and perfume and candle wax and cigar smoke, the sounds of men and women's voices above him, some gossiping, some ordering about, others discussing this and that…

He was at Buckingham Palace.

Realising he was no longer weighed down by the pain, Nelson opened his eyes.

And nearly jumped in shock.

Directly opposite him was a towering black wolf, blinking cold eyes at him, its jaws open revealing rows of pristine white teeth. It was a hulking beast and yet strangely graceful, every inch a lethal predator.

Trying not to scare it, Nelson shrank back against the wall, but to his surprise the wolf did too, looking at him with confused and frightened eyes.

Something clicked in his head.

He blinked. The wolf blinked too. He raised his hand; the wolf raised its paw.

He looked down, and truly saw himself for the first time, at the shining black fur of his chest, and the strong limbs of his legs. He inhaled, and the sounds and scents rushed through his now aching head like a physical onslaught, as if he could _taste_ all the sensations.

But even more was the thirst burning in his throat.

Horrified, he glanced back at the mirror, glimpsed his cavalry uniform lying behind him in a heap, his boots beside them. Flinging his head back, he let out a cry of despair and fear.

It came out in a chilling howl.

* * *

When he had calmed, he paced his prison. From what he could smell, hear and sense he was in Buckingham Palace, in one of the cellars perhaps?

He had no idea what time it was or how much had passed since he had fallen from Big Ben.

His prison was perfect, not a chink or a gap in the metal doorway for him to see through. He had to content himself with the sensations his improved senses brought him.

He had no idea what he was or what had happened, but the burning thirst in his throat, and the need to sate it grew hourly.

The only thing which distracted him from the torture was the thought of his beloved Belinda.

That and the life he had sensed growing in her womb, as vibrant and as alive as the mother.

He heard footsteps and realised someone, or multiple people were heading his way.

Focussing his senses, he heard the slightly heavy tread, short strides and the _clack_ of heeled shoes.

A woman he guessed.

Accompanying her was at least two men, with heavier footsteps, and wider strides and the ring of their boots on the stone floor.

Royal Guards he'd bet his life on it.

With a sinking heart, he realised who it was coming to his prison.

His cousin, the Queen.

He paced into the centre of his prison, sitting back on his haunches and steeling himself. He had gotten used to this body eventually, but he still missed his human body. What had happened to him?

The metal door opened, and Victoria did appear, flanked by two nervous looking Guards. His cousin looked up at him haughtily, cool curiosity in her eyes.

Her severe black gown swirled around her, as she halted in front of him. Sitting, he was taller than her by a head, if not more, and he contemplated how easy it would be to simply swat her aside with one of his paws.

Plus the thirst was building again.

But when he inhaled through his nose, a scorching scent filled his nostrils, making his eyes water.

Danger, some part of his mind whispered instinctively.

Victoria smiled coldly. She touched a chain around her neck.

"Silver, Nelson. It also lines the walls and doors so you cannot escape. You can smell it, can't you?" she asked, almost tauntingly, and he growled. The Guards' hands tightened on their revolvers at their waists. "Now now dog, none of that."

Concentrating hard, Nelson tried to tamp down the primal side of him, and let his more human self rise to the surface of his mind.

But even that was part wolf.

"What…have you…done to me?" he panted laboriously, fighting to form the words through his canine mouth.

Surprise broke over Victoria's lined face, as she inclined her head.

"You have gained control quicker than the others, Nelson. I am impressed," she murmured. "Incidentally, I did nothing to you. You did this to yourself."

"What…?" he growled.

"You have many questions, Nelson and I will answer them. First of all do you know where you are?" she asked inquiringly.

"Buckingham…Palace," he managed to pant out, inwardly frustrated by his inability to speak properly. But then again it was difficult to speak fluently when one's vocal chords no longer even resemble even anything human.

"Very good. You are correct. You have progressed further than any other in a short time," Victoria murmured, as Nelson cocked his head to the side.

"There were…others?" he asked and his cousin nodded.

"Yes, there have been others of our family like you. You are a werewolf, Nelson. We do not know how or why, but the ability to become a wolf runs in our family, passed down through the mother to the child but it is only activated in the event of the death of the bearer, and then by violent means. The last was my own father apparently, but he could not rise out of the bloodlust and retake his place in society. You are impressive in that you appear to have controlled your lust for blood, and have regained your humanity in some form. Well, if one can call a traitor such as you human," Victoria finished contemptuously. Ignoring the jibe, Nelson stared at her incredulously.

A werewolf? It couldn't be.

He was a man of logic and reason, not wild superstition.

Yet the evidence was irrefutable, unless he was insane and raving in some asylum somewhere.

But he remembered the fall, and the fight in Big Ben.

Belinda's words…

Those were no mad delirium.

"How long…have I been here?" he finally asked, finding it easier to speak in a human manner the more he did.

"Nearly a week," Victoria replied, and he stared. A week?

"What is going to happen to…me now?" he asked.

"You committed treason, you have murdered innocent people and you must be punished for it, however your new state…limits our options. You cannot be killed now, and you are immortal. And you possess a bond with a human, a bond which could kill her if we tried to harm you," she replied, and Nelson inhaled painfully.

"Belinda," he breathed in horror.

Victoria's chin tilted imperiously. "Nelson Rathbone, we henceforth banish you from our realms, for the entirety of your existence. You will be conveyed to the Continent, and released but you may never return."

"Wait! Will I ever…be human again?" he called, as she made to leave.

"Human? You will never be human again, Nelson," she replied coldly.

Nelson stared at her as she turned and swept out of the room, his mind whirling with all she had told him.

What was he going to do?

* * *

Nelson was laid on the floor, head on paws as hours later, he waited for someone to come for him. He wondered if he would ever regain his human form.

Then his head cocked, as a familiar and beloved voice filled his senses.

"_If only that were so," Belinda murmured_, and it was like a door opened in his mind. He could _feel_ her, sense her presence above him.

He called out to her, in desperation, not knowing if she heard him.

_Belinda!_

He felt her pause, felt Victoria's concern and ultimate triumph. She had heard him, but she did not know it.

"_You have sacrificed much for your monarch, Belinda, and you shall be rewarded. I fear we shall not meet again," Victoria told her, and he could sense her confusion._

"_I do not understand," she breathed, and he could feel the pain in her heart, and it made him yearn for her._

"_You shall, my dear. You shall." Victoria replied, and he felt it as she tried to leave. _He tried once more.

_Belinda!_

But she was gone, and he felt their bond dissipate, weakening with distance even while it did not quite fail.

He felt such extreme agony rise up in him, hers and his, that he howled with his pain.

And felt it change him.

He collapsed to the floor, shaking with pain and anguish, as he felt his bones shrink, his jaws recede, his hair shoot back into his skull and he shrunk.

Within minutes, he lay panting and naked on the floor, a man once more.

Nelson raised his head, and looked blindly at the opposite wall. The sensations of the palace still crashed into his brain, and the thirst burned in his throat but he controlled it.

The wolf still lingered in his brain, as purpose settled into his mind. He would escape, he would find his _mate_, and he would take her away.

Hearing footsteps coming along the corridor outside, he strode to his pile of clothes, stumbling at first as he got used to his human body again. He pulled them on, his hands moving in blurs, almost ripping the now fragile material.

He marvelled at his strength, when he heard a key turn in the lock.

A predatory smile spread across his face.

The two guards sent to escort the infamous Lord Rathbone, now werewolf, to the port nervously popped their heads into the room, clutching a set of silver manacles.

They'd expected to see a snarling wolf or at least a disorientated human as they had been warned, but the room was…

Empty.

Private Carlson crept into the room, followed by his fellow Guard Corporal Hertford, both of them swathed in silver as protection.

"Where is he?" Carlson asked incredulously, as they both stopped and stared in complete confusion at the empty room. Unthinkingly, Carlson stepped further into the room, although Hertford hung back.

The dark shape that dropped from the ceiling sent him hurtling into the wall. Hertford cried out in horror, as he slid down it unconscious, a trail of blood leaking from his head. The Corporal raised his pistol, filled with silver bullets when Nelson spun and caught his pistol, yanking it away. In a moment of foresight, Hertford kicked the door shut.

The key was on the outside, and no one could get out from the inside.

Nelson fisted his hand in the Corporal's tunic, lifting him bodily off the floor, so his boots kicked uselessly against Nelson's.

"You're trapped," he choked out, his face reddening from the steely fingers around his neck as they cut off his blood supply.

Nelson smiled arrogantly, restored almost to his old self. "Oh you really think a little old door is going to stop me?" he asked superciliously, before hauling the other Guardsman into his free hand, hefting them both aloft like rag dolls. Fear shone in Hertford's eyes.

He stank of it.

Rathbone's smile turned anticipatory, as he gathered his now considerable strength and threw the two Guardsmen at the door. They smashed into it, sending it flying out and against the wall, as their broken bodies crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Sensing freedom, Nelson paused only to take up the pistol Hertford had dropped, and stepped out into the corridor.

"Don't worry, I'll see myself out," he murmured as he walked away down the corridor, intoxicated by his own power.

Awash with purpose.

Belinda.

* * *

Nelson finished his story just as the sun had begun to set, and he felt the night wash over him, unlocking his wilder side.

Belinda was pacing before him, arms crossed, frowning. At last, she stopped and looked at him, the fear still there in her eyes.

"I don't understand. Werewolves aren't real, they're just folklore!" she exploded, gesturing wildly.

"I can assure you they're not," he replied acerbically. "Would you like to see me transform now or later?"

"What do you mean?" Belinda asked, quizzically. Nelson stood from his perch on her bed, and stalked towards her. She backed away, sensing danger like a prey before its predator.

A lamb before the wolf.

Somehow she doubted she could beat him in a swordfight now.

"I was banished, Belinda, and by dint of the bond we share you are as well," Nelson explained calmly. He fixed her with a steely look. "I will not leave the mother of my child here to raise him alone."

"You condemned an innocent child to _this_!" she gasped, one hand protectively covering her belly. Nelson sighed angrily.

"I did not do it deliberately, Belinda. Had I not died violently, the werewolf would have died too. Our child need never become as I am, as long he does not die a violent death," he told her again, but she shook her head.

"No, violence will follow you wherever you go, Nelson. I will not condemn our son to that," she stated firmly, yet her heart was now dying inside.

She had found her love just to lose him again, but she had to think of her son.

She knew it wasn't going to be easy, as she felt his anger begin to rise.

Now she was aware of the bond they shared, she could feel his anger, his desperation, the urgency riding him.

It both thrilled and frightened her.

This was far beyond her ken; the supernatural was not part of her world. Some part of her was still in denial.

But there was no way a man could fall from Big Ben, as he had, and appear before her now, hale and whole.

And he knew the words she had spoken to him, and to him alone on College Green.

A leashed growl erupting from her lover brought Belinda back to reality, as her head snapped up from where it had fallen.

"What are you saying?" he demanded, his voice ruthlessly quiet yet reeking of danger. It made her shiver, calling to a part of her once deeply buried but now it rioted to the surface, in answer to his call.

A cat purring against the tiger's cheek.

"I am saying," she repeated calmly, despite the way her heart throbbed in her chest, and desire had already begun to spark between them again. "that I will not condemn our son to this existence. To a life on the run, immersed in darkness. I cannot."

Inwardly, the wolf in Rathbone growled and snarled, desiring to force his demands on his mate, but the human in Nelson refused to do it.

Yet.

"Do you still love me, Belinda?" he asked a question, he had asked before. Only now did she answer truthfully.

"Yes," she breathed. The wolf subsided for a moment, temporarily soothed but it soon rose again at her next words. "But it changes nothing-"

Suddenly Belinda found herself pinned to her bed, beneath Nelson as he kissed her wildly, almost frantically. Fear rose up to choke her, as an answering wildfire rose in her veins, urging her to capitulate and follow him, to respond to his kiss and take him all.

It was madness.

* * *

Nelson framed her face with his hands, conquering the cavern of her mouth with no preamble, no permission sought. Her body arched into his, seeking release.

Then she felt his hands on her dress, ripping the bodice down the front, baring her neck.

She yanked her lips from his, and struggled but he was too strong.

"You are mine, Belinda," he growled before bending his head to her neck, nuzzling aside her hair. "Forever."

That fear she felt overrode her desire, as the answering call of her body was dimmed beneath it. Was that teeth she could feel against her skin?

But for a moment, one wild moment, she desired whatever he was about to do, wanted it like nothing else.

But not now.

"No!" she screamed, allowing her tears of fear and anguish to break free, and she felt him pause. She stilled beneath him, panting harshly. "Don't do this, Nelson. Please…"

Suddenly his weight left her, as she sat up, disorientated.

* * *

Nelson stood by the window, breathing harshly, hands fisted as he fought for control. He couldn't believe he had almost bitten her. He didn't know where the impulse came from, but it had been strong and overriding when her refusal to be his had dropped from her lips.

He had lost control, and it frightened him.

"Forgive me, I beg you. I lost control," he breathed, tamping down his primitive side, feeling the lust recede to be replaced by racking guilt, ten times as fiery and painful.

In the glass he watched Belinda sit up, holding the collar of her dress together, as she watched him in the window.

He hung his head on the cool glass, as she slid from the bed and approached him. He felt her cold hands slide around his waist, hugging herself against his chest.

"I forgive you," she whispered, and he felt the guilt ease only slightly. "What have they done to you?"

"I don't know. I'm feeling my way, and it terrifies me not to know for certain," he replied candidly. Belinda stared at the wall, acknowledging the truth in that statement. Nelson had been a military man, had been a diplomat and politician for years and no strategist liked going ahead without solid facts and information.

The stark truth was that he was struggling with this as much as she. Now they were all each other had, in a world which had become a whole lot darker and more mysterious.

"I love you, Belinda. I have lost everything: my life, my reputation, my identity even my humanity. Don't make me lose you too," he breathed in a pained tone, and she felt something within her give way.

Yes, the fear remained, but another part of her he had called forth bid her go on, by his side, and guide him through the darkness surrounding them.

Only she could do it.

Somehow, as if by instinct, she knew what to do.

She stood straight, turned him around, and framed his face between her hands.

"I love you, Nelson Rathbone," she breathed, before releasing his face and plucking the chain holding the engagement ring bearing the Rathbone crest from her neck. She broke the catch and slid it onto her finger, where it felt so right. "I will always love you, for all eternity."

She reached, slid her hands into his hair, and kissed him tenderly, putting all her love for him into the embrace, feeling him respond ardently. Panting now, she drew back and took his hands, leading him to the bed.

"I have lost everyone I have ever loved. My mother, my father and then you. Now I have you back and I will not let anything come between us, especially not this," she murmured softly.

"What about our son?" Nelson asked. "If I recall, just a moment ago you said you would not condemn him to this life."

"And neither can I deny him his father, as I was denied my mother. If I lose you again, I won't want to live any longer," she replied. Gathering her courage, conquering her quivering fear, she raised her hands to her ruined bodice, and bared her neck.

"Take me away, make me yours forever," she whispered against his lips. She shivered under the primal fire in his eyes, feeling the same well up in her, and this time she surrendered to it.

Surrendered to him.

To what was right.

"Belinda, I don't know if…" he began hoarsely, but she cut him off.

"I don't care. Make me yours," she repeated, her own voice becoming huskier and huskier as desire took flight.

Within Nelson the wolf rose again, triumphantly so. It overrode his human fears and took her in his arms forcefully, devouring her mouth as if starved. This time she responded avidly, as he tumbled her back onto the bed, the creamy mounds of her breasts straining against her uncovered corset, the skin of her bare shoulders gleaming in the grey, rainwashed light of the stormy afternoon.

She still felt stiff and unsure beneath him, as he raised his head. Thanks to the bond cementing between them even now, he knew what she was feeling.

"Let go. Let that fire in your veins take you over and just let go," he breathed, before letting himself do the same.

The result verged on the animalistic.

As Belinda gave her lips to him once more, she did as he asked and let go, let the wildfire possess her. A she-wolf arose from the depths of her soul to answer his primal call, to devour him as he would devour her.

Urgent and needy, she tore off his cavalry tunic and shirt, throwing them away carelessly while he ripped away her ruined dress, chemise and corset, releasing her hair from its bonds so it spread like a glistening mahogany cloak over the pillows of the bed.

Nelson's lips wrenched from hers to devour her neck, sucking on the skin frantically, almost painfully. She arched up into his arms, rocking her hips against his enticingly, as desire coalesced and became almost became painful. His hands travelled over her body, taunting her, teasing her until she was desperate, one step away from insanity.

Which was why she did something she would never have done in a million centuries.

She forcefully scratched her nails down his back, leaving three bloody lines where they broke the skin, making Nelson arch his spine as he cried out in pain and yet in pleasure also.

"Stop playing and just take me, you fiend," she snarled aggressively, already reaching for him.

* * *

Nelson burned in an intense fire, so intense it made him insane. The stinging pain of the marks she had left drove him on, as he kissed her again, imprisoning her wrists in either of his hands, and let instinct rule him.

He flipped her over onto her front, and thrust into her, his heavy body still pinning hers to the bed as he drove into her, wildly making love to her aching body as she cried out and arched beneath him. He suckled his way down her spine, his hands now freely roaming her body, marking her as his.

* * *

Belinda shuddered and writhed helplessly under the relentless, pounding rhythm of his body, claiming, surging deep. His hot lips and hands on her skin ruthlessly drove her higher, and she had no doubt she would be covered in marks tomorrow.

But it was addictive.

She tried to move against him, tried to rock her hips but she was imprisoned beneath him, forced to take his unstopping onslaught, which she did freely, loving every moment.

Instinct had begun to take over, and when she felt his lips on her sweaty shoulder, she bared her neck to him, offering it up like a sacrifice.

"Do it," she breathed, before she moaned again in utter ecstasy as he surged into her once more.

Unable to stop even if he wanted to, Nelson hauled her up into his arms, back to his chest, encircling her waist and torso, stretched up against as he continued to thrust into her.

He breathed out shakily against her skin, before sinking his lengthening canines into her neck. Belinda cried out and bucked in his arms, before slumping against him.

Taking only a little blood, ignoring the thirst in his throat, Nelson released her neck as they both cried out when release took them. Heads arched towards the ceiling, Belinda shivered in his arms, weak from both blood loss and from their wild passion.

She tiredly turned her head to face him, and kissed his lips gently, which he returned.

A moment of peace in their own private storm.

He lowered her to the bed, and held her as she slid willingly into slumber, staring up at the ceiling, the wolf within him contented and sated.

For now.

He had claimed his mate.

But even more importantly, he and Belinda would be together forever, and their child would be safe.

"I love you," he breathed against her silky, tousled hair. He felt her murmured reply against his chest.

"I love you too, Nelson," she sighed, before relaxing into sleep.

He lay back, and held her close against him, the thrum of her heartbeat, the blossoming life within her and the mark on her neck more precious to him than anything else.

Dying and coming back again had taught him that.

He didn't know where they would go, or what they would do, but he would never let her go.

Never.

She was his, eternally, at last.

* * *

**It's just the epilogue next I'm afraid, but I hope you enjoy ****J.**


	16. Epilogue: Fourteen Years Later

Epilogue: Fourteen Years Later

* * *

Belinda shifted in the box overlooking the main stage, of the Opera Garnier, the sublime music below drifting up towards her. Shadows draped the private boxes hugging the gilded walls of the opera house, the lit chandelier above casting a glittering aura over the bejewelled crowd below.

Onstage _The Marriage of Figaro_ played out, into its third act.

But Belinda's eyes were not on the superb singers, or the glittering costumes. She was waiting.

She shifted restlessly in her red gown trimmed in ermine, the silver scars on her neck of nearly fifteen years ago gleaming in the dim light, half concealed by the fall of her dark hair.

It had been fifteen years since she'd followed her husband into exile, fifteen years of hardship and regret.

She hadn't seen her husband for thirteen years.

Thirteen years ago, she'd seen the darkness eating away at her husband, seen the old lust for revenge which would have destroyed him.

That would have destroyed her son, too.

Thoughts of their now adolescent son, Lucian, crowded her mind as she sighed. At least he had the best life she could give him. While her name was now mud with the royal court, the name of the former Foreign Secretary, her old friend, was not. At the age of eight, she'd sent her son away to be raised and educated in England, in safety.

He was at Eton now, and doing well as he communicated in frequent letters to her, and she saw him when she could.

But such visits were rare, by necessity. She alone knew the reason why she had sent her son away, and it comprised of two words.

Nelson Rathbone.

After she had run, taking their two year old son with her, she had been aware of his unrelenting pursuit ever since. Thanks to the bond they now shared, she was aware of him with every breath she took, feeling him inside her.

Just like the night he claimed her heart, body and soul.

* * *

Despite the passage of fifteen years, Belinda had changed very little. No grey littered her lustrous mahogany waves, nor did wrinkles mar her statuesque face. If any sign of aging existed at all, it was in her eyes. They were sadder, darker than they had been, vast pools of experience and dark knowledge.

Every night she had fought to be free of the heartbreak of leaving her soul mate behind, the continuous longing for his touch, his kiss, his love. The knowledge that she had done exactly what she had vowed not to do, depriving her son of his father, grated on her conscience.

But she couldn't let his need for revenge drag them down into darkness with him. Not even for love of him, would she do that.

For six years she had managed to evade him entirely, raising her son in a beautiful little village in the Italian Alps, before she had sensed his coming and sent her son away, to Lord Castlemere.

So she could draw the wolf away, in pursuit of her.

For the past six years, she had led a hectic life, a constant chase of cat and dog with him.

Or was it predator and prey?

A few times he had caught her, but she always found the strength to run away again.

Because he had bruised her heart, shown her revenge meant more to him than their love and their son, and she would not give him chance to do so again.

She was sick of giving him chances.

* * *

But now, now something was happening and she knew she needed him to get through it.

Someone was stalking the pair of them, and they needed to work together to find out why.

It had started with Belinda noticing little things. People following her, tiny traces of someone breaking into her rooms at the hotel.

Something told her it was the same for Nelson too.

There had been no pursuit from the British Government, after their exile but then again it was hard to track down two such formidable people, who more than knew how to disappear in a blink of an eye.

It was particularly hard to capture a werewolf and his mate too.

For all her hardships, some part of Belinda was oddly grateful for the life she had been given. While not the life she would have wanted, she possessed the strength to protect her son, and live her life the way she chose to.

She was free.

All this ran through Belinda's mind, as she sat watching the opera below, before the unbreakable cord running between her soul and Nelson's suddenly blazed into life, sending intoxicating shivers of heat down her spine.

Outwardly she didn't react, but continued to serenely watch the tableau below.

But that feeling of phantom hands wandering over her skin, teasing the sensitive nub of nerves at the nape of her neck, the bite scars throbbing on her throat all told her one thing.

He was here.

"I know you're there, Nelson. Why don't we dispense with all the cloak and dagger silliness, and you come out where I can see you?" she murmured quietly, sure only he could hear her.

She felt his presence melt from the shadows behind her, like a looming beast bearing down on her.

Onstage, the Count was attempting to kiss Susannah, singing of her cruelty.

_Crudel! Perché finora! farmi languir così? _

She almost jumped out of her skin, when she felt his hands curl over hers on the armrests of the chair, bent over her, surrounding her in his dusky warmth, his lips at the whorl of her ear.

"Cruel woman! Why until now did you keep me in torment?" he whispered into her ear, repeating the line of the duet acted out below. She shivered, her spine involuntarily arching.

"That's cheating, Nelson," she murmured, as she felt the bond between them solidify, becoming tangible as all her longings rose to the surface.

It had been three years.

"Since when have I ever played by the rules?" he retorted, and she could not fault that one. But any pithy reply was wiped away by the feel of hot lips at her ear, gliding down.

His hands slid around her waist, possessively exploring the curve of her waist through her corseted bodice, only very teasingly caressing the mounds of her breasts. Her eyes shut in ecstasy, head stretched upwards towards the ceiling, Belinda purred felinely, making her wolf grin against her neck.

"Can you ever keep your hands to yourself for one minute, Nelson?" she asked huskily, turning her head so she could look at him over her shoulder, so very close to her.

"Maybe I would, if my wife were not so very irresistible," he replied heatedly, his austerely handsome face and ruffled black hair still the same as fourteen years ago.

He was dressed in stylish evening clothes, the black coat and gold waistcoat cleaving to his muscular frame, draped in a black cloak.

He was the epitome of rakish beauty, and it made her mouth water, all her primal desires rioting to the fore.

Her senses were momentarily distracted by the fingers currently tracing the edge of her bodice, as Nelson frowned almost playfully.

"And if my wife's gown was not so provocative," he added, mock sternly, as Belinda's eyes narrowed.

"There is nothing wrong with my gown," she growled, sending more shivers of desire down Nelson's spine. The scarlet confection was a swirl of silks trimmed in ermine, the square bodice strapless but for three glittering, ruby-encrusted chains draping the swell of her shoulders. It was not scandalous per se, but on her the gown was utterly bewitching.

"No, no of course not," he hastily murmured, pressing his lips to the join of her neck, relishing the shudder rippling down her spine.

"Nelson…no," she whispered, trying to move away but his hands around her waist turned to shackles of steely flesh, holding her still.

"It's been _three_ years, Belinda. Twelve since you first fled from me with our son. When are we going to stop this ridiculous debacle?" he growled against her ear. Summoning her will, Belinda stood, grabbing Nelson's arm.

"Believe it or not I didn't bring you here for this, Nelson. I have something I need to discuss with you, in private," she whispered in a fierce voice, leading him from the private box, unseen by the audience below.

* * *

As she led Nelson through the corridors of the Opera Garnier, her eyes darted everywhere, using her not-inconsiderable senses to detect any followers. As she walked, she filled him in about her suspicions, explaining about the people shadowing her, and the telltale signs of people invading her room.

She led him out onto the roof, the black night cold for any normal humans. They barely felt it.

"…So you see, we need to work together. Someone is stalking us, and we need to find out who and why," she finished, turning around as the door closed. Nelson stood on the step, looking down at her, his eyes implacable.

"And here I thought you let me catch you, because you were as tired as I of this life," he breathed, almost sadly. Belinda's eyes flickered, and turned away, to look out over the Paris cityscape.

"You made your choice, Nelson. You chose your thirst for revenge over me and our son. Some choices can't be undone," she murmured, the gentle breeze playing with her hair.

Nelson heard her words, felt them sink into his soul. He knew he'd hurt her, all those years ago when he had made the decision to punish those who had thwarted him.

If it hadn't been for that trio of interfering foreigners, he would never have become what he was.

He would never have become a werewolf.

"I can't undo the past, Belinda. No matter how much I wish I could," he breathed, moving closer to her. She stiffened but didn't move away, and he could hear the wry smile in her voice.

"You're lying. You never could lie to me, and you're still appalling at it now," she murmured, turning her head slightly so her long upswept curls fell against her neck.

"I'll just have to try harder," he replied softly, sliding his hands around her waist.

"No," Belinda protested, albeit weakly and he felt through their bond, how much she yearned for his touch.

"Yes," he growled, tilting her head back and up so their lips met hungrily, as she sank into his arms.

She shivered in his hold, but not from cold, as he twisted her around, their lips still fused. He walked her back into the base of a marble statue, crushing her back against it as their kiss intensified, becoming urgent and animalistic.

Three years was really too long, as Belinda began to question if she truly possessed the strength to keep running anymore.

Both were so consumed in the other, that neither noticed the sound of footsteps steadily marching along the corridor they had just left until it was too late.

* * *

Someone grabbed Nelson's shoulder, and they sprang into action.

Alertness rushed back, as Nelson whirled around, his supernatural strength taking care of the uniformed soldiers that were suddenly crowding the rooftop.

Belinda whipped around the base of the statue, sliding a knife hairpin from her curls and hitting one soldier in the shoulder, before blocking the punch from another. She whirled and kicked out, her booted foot tripping him up, taking his ankles out from under him.

She tore her skirt away, revealing the tight-fitting breeches and boots she always wore beneath her dress.

Nelson punched one, before whipping out his swordstick, sliding the cane away, the metal of the blade gleaming in the moonlight.

He glanced over at Belinda and saw her holding her own, until a soldier rushed at her with a sword. He cried her name, throwing his sword to her and blocked the punch from another assailant.

A moment later she threw it back to him, retreating to his side.

They fought as a team, ducking and dancing around each other, but there was barely any room to move.

She glanced at Nelson, and saw the same conclusion in his eyes.

They were going to lose.

They retreated to the rooftop's edge, the soldiers advancing on them grimly, swords unsheathed and some holding revolvers.

She couldn't tell their origins from their uniforms, and it filled her with unease.

She glanced over at Nelson, standing at 'en garde' with his blade, battle-ready. He met her eyes, and she sent him an exhilarated, breathless grin.

"Told you so," she muttered, eliciting a wry grin from her husband.

"You're impossible," he shook his head fondly, as a figure stepped from the shadows.

He was middle height, with a round, pleasant face and red hair. His slightly thin body was clothed in a suit, of good quality but not in the same league as Nelson's.

"Lord and Lady Rathbone," he inclined his head, striding forward through the ranks of his men, his accent telling them he was well-educated, if not quite upper-class. "My name is Sanderson Reed."

"Rather a rude way of introducing yourself," Belinda called mockingly, straightening from her attack-ready stance and gliding to Nelson's side.

"Apologies, but the two of you are difficult…and dangerous to track down," Reed murmured amiably, but the smile he gave her still sent shivers down her spine. Uneasy, she glanced at Nelson.

"What do you want, Reed?" he asked abruptly, his tone every inch a command. Reed bristled, straightening icily.

"I have a proposition to put to you, Lord and Lady Rathbone…"

_**The End**_

* * *

**For now…**

**Basically I will be doing a sequel, eventually, a crossover with the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.**

**The only thing that film was missing was a werewolf.**

**Please R&R! and thank you for reviewing :).**


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